


The kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about

by Stolperzunge



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bad Song References, Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Drug Use - is that a weed? they smoke a joint, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Miscommunication, Slow Burn - kinda for a oneshot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stolperzunge/pseuds/Stolperzunge
Summary: I might as well be the only constant at this place. I was already here when this was nothing more than a rundown burger shack which only opened during the night. A place for drunks and nocturnals. I was there when we started to serve our regulars coffee for a Dollar from the coffee machine in the staff's room, because they kept asking for it. And I was still around when Mac took the opportunity which was already knocking at his door and bought an industrial coffee machine and a bagel heater and half-assed a new menu. And soon we were open 24 hours as a burger grill / coffee shop.___Snafu works the night and early morning shifts at a 24h eatery, causing him to meet quite some strange people. Among them a redhead, who catches his eye. Eugene attends this place in the morning to get his daily dose of caffeine, but he also comes in during the night, to work on hisliterature. Snafu gets just more and more intrigued with Eugene, the more he gets to know him. The banter between them turning desire into affection.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19
Collections: Sledgefu Week 2020





	The kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about

**Author's Note:**

> Sledgefu Week Day 5: Coffeeshop AU (and Pride)
> 
> It‘s time for something light-hearted and _bad_ song references!  
> This is definitely written in a different style than the other stuff I posted, but I hope it's readable either way? I at least tried to make it funny and a little sexy ;^)  
> This is one monster of a oneshot, so here's a short outline to show you, what you can expect:  
> The first part is a lot of banter and teasing, every time they bump into each other. This part is pretty dialogue heavy. The middle part is getting to know each other, backstory time, because I always have to give them an extended backstory… Last part is hopefully fluffy, mushy feelings, a little smut and an reveal :^)
> 
> You can totally skip my following rambling lol:  
> Funnily enough, I had the basic idea for this story, speaking burger grill/coffeeshop, long before Sledgefu Week was announced. I scribbled Snafu's morning in this kind of business inside my notebook and left it like that. I didn't think I'd ever write, let alone finish this piece. I posted like one oneshot years and years ago, but this fandom is so talented and I got really inspired and I just love these two characters, so I _tried_.  
> There are actually two versions of this story, this one and one with a bit more angst. But I just wanted them to be happy, okay? So I re-wrote and re-wrote and this is the result. And I‘m not even sure, if it was worth it ^^“ I went over this so much that I can‘t honestly tell if it‘s even good. It‘s dialogue heavy and I don‘t know if it‘s maybe too much…  
> Of course this is based on the TV show and not on the real people. English isn’t my first language.
> 
> Enjoy!

I might as well be the only constant at this place. I was already here when this was nothing more than a rundown burger shack which only opened during the night. A place for drunks and nocturnals. I was there when we started to serve our regulars coffee for a Dollar from the coffee machine in the staff's room, because they kept asking for it. And I was still around when Mac, the manager, took the opportunity which was already knocking at his door and bought an industrial coffee machine and a bagel heater and half-assed a new menu. And soon we were open 24h hours as a burger grill / coffeeshop. 

My shift would end in about half an hour. I've been here since 1 am, now it was nearly 7 and I am fucking tired. Two teens vomited this night and I could still smell it on me after cleaning after them, even though I changed my uniform. I was specifically hired for the night shifts since the beginning. My manager had the habit of employing rather young, rather pretty girls who also worked during the night. “Good for the business”, he told me, to which I didn't say anything, because I needed the job. He had also told me I looked like a crazy guy, someone you wouldn't dare to start a fight with: “Back in the Army we would have called you a Snafu!” So he called me just that, put me behind the counter and told me to keep staring at everyone who didn't follow the rules. And I did just that, still doing it, for a couple of years now.

Steph is with me this morning. She is one of the old breed. Almost 26 and an art major. She'd probably be one of those poor souls who'd stuck at a job like this regardless of her fancy degree. I like her, she is sarcastic as hell and rude to most of the customers. Only reason she hasn't lost the job yet, is because she is damn pretty.

Steph is an exception from the rule, most girls only make it to a few months before they stop working here, when they are tough enough to even get past the first few nights. Overall I like working with the girls. They're mostly fun to be around with, some are even quite witty. I only feel kinda sorry for them when they work night shift after night shift to support their families or their college dreams, but I can’t change the system. All I can do is using my talent of uncomfortably staring and my complete indifference towards dropping hot coffee on rude customers to keep the girls safe during my shift.

Steph is at the register, counting the money, making sure her forerunner didn't fuck up that badly. The cash adds up rarely during such a busy night. Too much going on at once and too many inexperienced people operating the register. Mac doesn't mind as long as it doesn't cross a certain sum, which I always forget about. I'm in the kitchen, preheating bagels. We're chatting about one of her professors when one of our regulars steps in.

It's a guy named Eugene. Strange name if you ask me. Might have worked for his grandfather, but for someone his age? Speaking mid to late twenties, it was a bit weird. He started coming here over half a year ago and he comes in often, so he earns his regular status.

Since we are open all day long and the place is located in a pretty culture heavy district, the state theater, orchestra, gallery and university all crammed together on the city map, we draw in two very different kinds of clientele. We get the party people who stumble in during the night, hungry right before or after they’re hitting the club and the artsy, trendy people who drink decaffeinated coffees and work at they're laptops during the day. They both enjoy the cheap prices and the independently feeling, during night and day. Without having to pay for fair traded coffee or organic meat like they would have at the actual independent eco-places. Hypocrites. 

This Eugene guy falls into the chaotic neutral section of customers. He attends our place mostly in the morning for his coffee, but sometimes he's sitting at his laptop at 3 am, typing frantically. He could be a college student. Not necessarily in the art department, but most certainly nothing business related. Maybe language or literature or some shit like that.

I always keep an eye on him. Not because I _have_ to, but because I want to. He's cute. With his shock of dark red hair which is always a little tousled and this stupid shawl with the ripoff Burberry pattern he had worn until late March which not only screamed, that he didn't originate from the north, but also screamed his sexuality right into your face. Or maybe the last part was just wishful thinking.

I guess his look could also be mistaken for a soft, sophisticated straight guy, because every now and then one of the girls gets a little crush on him. Rushing to the counter to take his order, smiling at him, wishing him an extra sunny day, but he never reciprocates the flirting and honestly I don't think he ever even noticed it. He's just always very polite, smiley. 

What kinda sold the deal for me was his encounter with Steph. She tried to give him her number a few months back, was about to write it on one of the paper cups. “In case you need something else in the early hours of the morning”, she had said with a wink. He simply had smiled at her and told her, that he wouldn't need it and handed her his own reusable cup. The pen in her hand had almost dropped as fast as her mood and she was pissed off for a whole week. No one had ever turned her down. Ever. So I assume he's gay. Or maybe I hope he's gay.

Since he turned her down, she isn't so fond of him anymore.

“Coffee will be ready in a minute”, she grumbles as soon as she sees him and turns away from the counter to dutifully wipe clean some tables.

“Oh okay, thanks”, he mumbles after her, as he stops in front of the counter. He certainly is aware of the fact that she doesn't like him that much, but he's completely oblivious to as of why. He's standing there a little lost, fumbling with his hands. 

Let it be the sleep deprivation or the acid stink of teenage vomit which got my brain clouded, but I turn on the coffee machine and decide to step up to the counter. I know Steph won't speak another word to him, but I actually want to talk to him. Maybe just to show the girls or him how flirting is actually done.

“Hey” I say in a low drawl and his eyes dart towards me. They're brown. Looking pretty dark in his pale face under these fluorescent lights. I wonder if they have an amber streak to them, or a green one in the daylight.

“Good morning.”

“Coffee will be ready in a minute”, I repeat and start wiping at the counter, as half-heartedly as Steph is wiping the tables, staring at me for putting up with a customer willingly. “You want something else? For breakfast?” 

By the way he first looked at me I could tell that he recognized me. Probably as the guy in the back who is always there but never talks to anyone. No wonder he looks a little surprised now, that I keep talking to him. “Bagels are still warm and we have fresh cream cheese.“

He stops the fumbling and shoots me a quick smile. “No thanks, I don't stomach dairy products that well.”

I like his accent, southern. Reminds me of home. His whole attitude reminds me of the south. He's standing there, upright, holding eye contact, smiling. I miss a walking stick and a Sunday-hat to his appearance to match his kinda old-school charm. I smile back at him. I'd like to see if I can make his polished radiance crumble. 

“Figured you'd be one of those sweet guys.”

His eyes widen and the parts of his ears which aren't covered by his hair turn pink. “Uh…” 

My eyes are still on him, I don't want to miss any of those little signs of embarrassment creep over his face. “I just meant you seem like someone who prefers a sweet breakfast over a hearty one.” 

I'm shooting him one of my toothier grins, showing him that I'd be ready to play with him.

He casts his eyes down, at last. Fumbling with his hands again, with a ring he wears on his ring finger. Doesn't look like anything serious though. I almost think I broke him, when his eyes are meeting mine again. “Yeah I guess no one would appreciate the air around me after eating cheese, so…” he lets out a small laugh.

I snort. Was that a fart joke? Honestly didn't picture someone like him to have such an immature sense of humor. I like that.

I put my hands on the counter, leaning forward a little, taking a better look at his face. It's rather slim and oblong, his nose is kinda big. I wonder if he ever got teased for it. His eyes are darting back and forth between mine. Maybe a little uncomfortable with the attention. I have to bite back a smile. He _is_ cute. 

“Something sweet for ya then?”, I ask with a smirk.

He frowns at that and a single crease appears between his brows. “I can't. I'm kinda in a hurry, sorry.” 

He actually seems disappointed about that. Not a polite disappointment, but a genuine one. And I wonder if it's just because of the bagels, cause they are truly not that great.

“What a shame…” I say as I hold his gaze until the beeping of the coffee machine ruins my favorite part of human contact: staring. 

I wander over to the kitchen and get the coffee pot. “We have like five different sorts of marmalade”, I keep on chatting as I come back to the counter. “You should try ‘em some day.”

I grab his cup that he had left on the counter and start pouring the coffee in. It's an enormous thing. We probably don't charge him enough for it, because our largest cups we use for measurement are still a few ounces smaller than his. I guess I'm the one who should be concerned with charging him more or pouring him less, but I just don't give a fuck. Someone could walk right in, steal everything they could get their hands on, including the stupid little hat I have to wear and I would simply wish them a good day on their way out.

His response surprises me, when he says: “I make sure I will.”

I stop for a second before I put the lit back on, smirking at him. I think he's hooked. Just one last tease, a real one this time. I attempt to hand his cup back to him, as he's starting to fiddle for his money in his pocket. 

“Leave it”, I tell him. He looks back up at me, confused. “It's on me. For making you uncomfortable.”

He frowns and let's his hands sink. “You didn't make me-”

But I don't let him finish. I grab one of his hands and push the cup into it. Who isn't uncomfortable now? Oh how I love this look on someone's face! He's staring blankly at me, I still hold his wrist, stretching the moment.

“See you soon” I say with a big grin, which doesn't see the light of the day that often, giving his wrist a firm squeeze before finally letting go off him.

His complexion isn't quite so pale anymore, when he mumbles a quick “Thank you. Goodbye” and hurries out of the store.

***

“I know what you’re doing”, Steph says as we share a smoke in the alleyway behind the store, sitting on the couch we got back there. Got too old for the inside, so Mac told me to get rid of it and I just pushed it outside and kinda forgot about it. The houses stand so close together that it can't get rained on. It's quite nice for the breaks, even though I'm trying to quit smoking for years now. “I know you're trying to get that nerdy ginger into bed with you.”

I smirk. Of course she knows, knows I have a thing for guys with red hair who're hard to get. Still, I won't make it that easy for her. 

“Don't know who you're talkin' about” I say and hand the cigarette over to her.

“Sure you do”, she simply states. “Had good luck with that?”

I grimace and shrug with one shoulder. Not really.

He came in sometimes and I took his order most times. But he still hasn't tried our bagels yet or even stayed longer than necessary. On some days the coffee was already brewed and our encounter would be even shorter. 

When I said: “Have a good day at…?” he just answered with “work”.

When I told him I was glad it was finally getting warm in this godforsaken city, that I missed the Louisiana heat, he just smiled and said he was more of a summer person too.

When I made fun of some obnoxious students and the higher education system in general, to draw a reaction from him, he simply chuckled with the words “what can one do?”.

He didn't reveal anything about himself. Not about his job, not about his origin, not about whether he actually was a college student or not. We basically didn't make it past the small talk although we were seeing each other almost daily.

I probably would've stopped caring at this point if there hadn't been that one morning when he came in and radiated a lot of tension. My stomach had sunk a little, I feared he actually did pick up on my flirting and expected him to say something along the lines of: “I know what you're trying, stop it, you creep!”

But he didn't do that, in fact he didn't say anything, not even a greeting until I asked him: “The usual?” Suddenly feeling very nervous myself. What was wrong? Had it something to do with this place? With me? Or did he just miss the subway?

I got his coffee, poured the almond milk, didn't say anything else, just placed it on the counter in front of him. He stared at it, I stared at it. Then his eyes shot up at me.

“I don't know your name!” he blurted out into the semi silence of the radio quietly playing and one of the girls cleaning up in the back of the kitchen.

I must have looked pretty confused because he shook his head irritably and elaborated: “Sorry! I mean, I come here almost everyday and I don't even know your name. Never asked, kinda shitty of me. Didn't want you to think that I'm some kind of stuck up asshole.”

I smirked at him, relieved. I didn't think of him as a stuck up asshole. I could tell that he came from a wealthier background. It was in his mannerism. His distant politeness probably steamed from a strict family home which clung to good manners and old values. But his slightly posh aura never came off as snotty and his battered shoes and pre-counted change, he always paid with, told me his fortune must have changed. 

“No worries”, I waved him off. “Guess I'm the nameless burger-place-guy for a bunch of people.”

The tension around him deflated and he smiled at me kinda ruefully. “That's what I call you when I'm thinking about you. Coffee-guy at the burger place.”

My eyes must have gleamed with mischief when I asked: “You're thinkin’ about me?”

He flushed, like the first time we have had a longer conversation. “Sure, I mean…”, he stammered. “In the morning before I come here.”

In the morning? So I'm in his thoughts right after he's woken up? I flashed him a big grin which made him cast his eyes down, fumbling with the strands of his backpack. 

“I didn't mean it like that”, he pressed out as his eyes darted towards the exit.

I wrestled my smile down. “Of course, I know”, I said. “Just wanted to tease ya.” I nudged his cup closer to him. If he wanted to go I'd let him.

He grabbed for his coffee but let his hand sink. Gaze turned up to me again, he almost looked bold. “So what is your name?”

I ducked my head a little. My birth name is kinda weird, pretty rare. I didn't know if I wanted him to know it. After all this was just a flirt. Had I met him in a club or at a bar I would've dragged him back home with me without exchanging any names. This whole coffee thing only made it more complicated. Made me see him and think of him far too often. But I already knew his name because he was a regular and he made the effort to actually ask, so I guess I owed him, kind of. 

“People 'round here call me Snafu.”

“Snafu?”, he repeated dumbly.

“Yeah Snafu. Want me to spell it out for ya?” I winked at him, masking my own uncomfortableness which crept up on me in that moment. Don't like the nickname that much either, but a surname felt too impersonal.

He didn't keep pushing, instead he offered me his hand over the counter. “Alright, Snafu.” 

As I said, good manners, old values. I smiled lopsidedly and grabbed his hand. It was soft, of course it was, only work it did was typing on his laptop. But it was also a little clammy.

“Alright Eugene”, I dragged his name out in my best New Orlean’ drawl, with emphasis on the U and the second E, made his dusty old name sound kinda nice.

He smiled back at me, giving my hand a firm squeeze like I did with his wrist back, when I pushed his cup into his hand. Then we let go of each other and he grabbed his coffee.

“See you soon?” he asked and I had nodded, barely containing the smile which was tucking at my lips. This kid was more fun, than I thought.

*

“So he knows your nickname. Wow!”, Steph says and blows the smoke in my direction. “Ask him to marry you next time.” 

I take the cigarette from her. “I'm gonna crack this nut”, I say and take a drag. “Achieving what you couldn't.”

She huffs. “His scrawny ass is all yours.”

“It will be” I answer and laugh as she fake gags.

***

I'm mopping the men's restroom floor when the door cracks open and Steph peers inside. “Tonight's your night”, she says. “Your newest target just walked in” with that she closes the door again.

I inhale sharply. Shit! That's good! 

It has been quite some time since he had come in during the night, but it was _the_ opportunity I had been waiting for. Can't ask someone what they'd do later if they were heading to their daytime job. Can't offer to take them back to your place either. Now it was nighttime and although he did seem to work even then, I guess he'd make an exception if I asked him nicely. 

I hurry to mop the remainder of the floor and check myself in the mirror while I wash my hands. Snatching the little uniform hat off me immediately. Had looked better in my lifetime. Dark circles under my eyes and a light stubble I hadn't cared to shave before I went to work. Still, my hair looks kinda good, despite the hat and I was wearing that pair of tight black jeans I accidentally shrunk in the wash. Tonight's the night.

I glance around the store. It's the time right between when the first drunk folks walk in _before_ the club and the last drunk one's who come here _after_ the club. So it's rather quiet. 

I spot him sitting at a table not far from me, between the window seat and the one right next to the other restroom, his back to the wall. He doesn't notice me, so I walk to the front.

“Did he say what he wants?” I ask Steph as I store the mop and the bucket in the back.

“This isn't a restaurant. As long as he isn't standing at the counter I don't give a fuck what he wants” she answers and keeps frying the patties. 

“Always so customer-oriented”, I mock her. “You'll give me a few minutes with him?” I ask and grab the coffee pot. Even though my intentions were clear I needed a reason to step up to him in the first place. Why not offering him some more coffee? He seemed to depend on it either way. 

“Take your time Romeo”, she says and I shoot her a quick grin. 

As I walk over to him, I notice him playing with that strange ring he's always wearing. Silver band with a black stone. Looks old. Valuable. Money and sentiment wise. 

“Hey there, Eugene” I say, stopping in front of his table. He jumps a little, as my present rips him out of his thoughts.

“Hey”, he says, sitting up straight, shutting his laptop a little. He looks kinda uncomfortable and I haven't even started to play with him yet.

“Already forgot my name?” I ask, grinning down on him.

He frowns. “No… but Snafu isn't a real name, either way.”

Is that right? Will he think the same inside a dark bedroom, after crying this name out, mind dizzy with the pleasure I'll draw from him? I can't quite decide what he'd be like in the bedroom. Considering the blushing and slight shyness I would have guessed he's a pillow princess, but I can also picture him as being a little bossy, demanding even. The speculation makes this whole thing a lot more interesting for me.

“You want some more coffee?”, I ask, ignoring his comment.

The crease between his brows intensifies. “Didn't know you walk around for refills”, he says.

Clever boy. Finally picking up on me treating him a little differently. 

He came here for quite some time now and I swear by my own life, that no one ever does refills here. If one of the girls even attempted to do it I'd have to have a serious talk with her. 

You give this greedy ass customers one refill and all of a sudden you're a damn hair salon and they tell you about their lives and spouses and kids. Absolutely disgusting. I won't let that happen. For Eugene on the other hand I'm ready to make a quick sacrifice. 

“Only for our special customers.”

He squints his eyes for a second, his tone still wary when he answers: “Well sure then.” 

I grab his cup and pour him the coffee. It's this enormous thing again. 

“Even though I doubt I'm one of them.”

“Why would you think that?”, I ask, glancing towards him. He comes here almost everyday even if I wasn't trying to get into his pants he sure would be one of our regulars. One of the nice ones on top of that. So he could actually ask for a favour. 

He looks past me to the counter. “The girl with the long dark hair?”

I follow his gaze. Steph stands by the counter, visibly chewing gum, visibly not giving a shit about anything. “My employee of the month? Steph?” I ask as I turn back to him. 

“She doesn't like me”, he says and shrugs with a little smile. I smirk back at him. He's right, she doesn't. He rubs at a spot on the table. “Is it something I've done?”

I thought about how he declined her number without even realizing it. It was too fucking funny. _He's not even that cute. And he turns me down? What an arrogant dick_ , she had muttered some days after the incident. 

But the fact that he just asked if he did anything wrong proved _her_ wrong. She simply started to hate his guts. The way he walked, talked, dressed. Drawing my attention to all those little details. For example, his fumbling when he became nervous. A close second was the touch of his nose. 

_His nose is fucking huge. Like seriously, it throws a shadow bigger than the empire state building!_ Steph had ranted one morning after he came in. It had been still cold outside, he had been a little sick, the tip of his nose slightly red, when he kept wiping at it with his handkerchief. _Fabric_ handkerchief I'd like to add. 

He does exactly that, touching his nose as his nervousness grows at the lack of an answer and me just staring at him for a few passing moments. I shake my head, mostly to get out of my thoughts. “No” I finally answer. “She's just a moody bitch.”

He huffs a small laugh. “Don't know if you should call your friend that.”

“What? Bitch?” 

He nods. Damn, if "bitch" already goes against his moral principles, than maybe he's a little too pure for me after all… But she is a bitch and she knows that. Just like I know that I'm an insufferable bastard most of the time. 

“Called her worse”, I wave him of. “And she curses like a fucking sailor.”

He laughs genuinely at that. “I can imagine that, actually.”

I smile down at him. Never talked so much with a customer before. Funny to think about what they read into us based on our brief encounters. And what we read into them. I read them as assholes mostly. 

But it feels like I know Eugene on a different kind of level, because of Steph's ongoing rattling and from what I could gather about him myself. He doesn't seem like an asshole. Maybe just a regular idiot-costumer.

“What are you doing later?” I bite down on my lip. I'd be ready to take him home with me, or his place, I don't care. As long as it's not a dorm room, I still don't know if he's a student, but I'm not willing to find out by having sex on a single bed under the blanket so his roommate doesn't hear us. I'm not 20 anymore and I want to hear him, make him lose his well-spoken attitude. Get him to slip a fuck past those lips. 

“Work”, he says, placing his hand back on the laptop screen, pressing it further down, which makes me arch a brow at him.

“What are you working on?” I ask, tilting my chin to his laptop.

He starts squirming in his seat, avoiding my eyes, even touching his nose again. “It's uh… it's kinda not safe for work…”, he murmurs.

Confusion swaps over me, why is he so nervous all of a sudden? And what is ‘not safe for work’ supposed to mean? 

“You're watching porn, or what?” I ask bemusedly. 

Wouldn't be the first time this happened. I even had to bounce a couple once who fucked in the toilet stalls. I don’t expect him to actually do this kinda stuff, all I'm saying is that it's hard to surprise me anymore. 

“I'm not watching porn!”, he scoffs. “I'm... writing.”

I snort. What can he possibly write that's so unsafe for other eyes to see? 

“So you're _writing_ porn?” I say like an elbow to the side remark, but his eyes snap back at me immediately and he turns crimson as if I had hit the nail on the head. 

Dumbfound I stare down at him. He looks mortified. 

“Nooo”, I say in disbelief. “That can't be it.” 

His mouth is pressed shut in a flat line. I can practically feel the hot embarrassment radiating off of him. 

I don't know how to react. I nearly drop the coffee pot. I nearly drop on my ass! 

“You're writing porn?!” I ask again, nearly shouting. Because this is nothing you can keep quiet about. Nothing you let roll around in your head, give it a little thought. This is something that deserves an explanation immediately! 

He launches forward and slaps at my hand. “Will you shut up?” he sits back, eyes darting around the store to see if anyone has noticed us. As he's certain no one has, he crosses his arm in front of his chest. 

“It's not porn”, he states, a matter of fact expression on his flushed face. “It's erotica.”

I guess I'm gaping at him, still completely stunned by this revelation. Erotica. So fancy porn for fancy people? Before I can even think of a witty response I hunch over with a heavy snort. Supporting myself over his table I laugh loud and wholeheartedly. Now people are definitely looking at us, including Steph. 

I am slowly containing myself, wiping away some tears from the corners of my eyes.

“Are you done?” he asks. 

The crease is back between his brows, expression like the one of a strict teacher. Am I a bad person for being kinda turned on by his obvious annoyance? 

“It's commission work, okay? Ain't that easy earning money with writing.”

I'm panting from laughing so much, but I try to hold it together. “So you're a writer?” I ask and cough to mask another laugh. He looks pissed off enough. But what did he expect? I never heard something like this before. He really _did_ surprise me. 

“Well, if you can call it that.” He pulls his sweatshirt over his hands, a bit self conscious, but still annoyed.

“Let me have a look?” My mind is working again. Back to teasing.

“Absolutely not”, he says with a straight face, hand back on the laptop as if I would snatch it away from him.

I pout at him. “Come on, this would be the highlight of my shift!” 

What am I saying? It'd be the highlight of my fucking year! I'd really like to find out what this pretty head of his was capable of imagining, finding out which part of those stories would be his own fantasies, what he had already done and what he'd like to try. 

He looks back up at me, something glints in his eyes. “Maybe next time, if you behave.”

***

I’m not so sure if that night had been _the night_ , because by the end of it we both had went back to our own places. 

Still, I was in good spirits. Maybe the revealing of his career wasn't that intentional but he had opened up a bit and it was probably the most surprising and equally interesting thing he could have said.

I had told Steph about our little chat and she had smirked knowingly: _Still waters run deep._

Just how much experience would one require to become an author for porn? Or erotica as he called it which made it sound a little vanilla. Just how vanilla or not vanilla was it? Was he? Aren't redheads supposed to be kinda crazy in bed? 

And his comment: _If you behave_. Feisty! Just like I liked them. Would've never thought that this could be this exciting.

Damn, this revelation got me _thinking_. All of a sudden his pale long fingers had a whole other connotation to them. I imagined them closed to a fist around me, or tucking at my hair, when I misbehaved. Imagined him kneeling in front of me, looking up like he had to when I was standing in front of his table. Those dark eyes tearing over with a little roughness on my part and a whole lot of pleasure on his part. Imagined the bop of his throat as he was swallowing something else than cheap coffee.

I imagined what kind of porn he writes. It doesn't have to be gay porn. Maybe he writes for horny suburban housewives, who get off thinking about being railed by a mysterious lover. I could be just that for him. Spreading him out under me, putting his hands above his head and telling him to leave them there. Pushing his thighs open, biting at the soft, pale flesh. He'd let out a little cry, as we'd both pretend he was oh so innocent. I would suck a hickey on his neck, claiming him and he'd have to cover it the following morning.

I spent so much time fantasizing about him that I didn't notice that I hadn't seen him in a few days, which formed a week and by the end of it I began to become nervous.

Did I scare him away? Was he too ashamed to return?

I really wanted to see him again. I wasn't done with the teasing yet. Even though it had felt like we were close to finish the teasing and would start doing the actual stuff soon. But he didn't come in, neither for his morning coffee nor in the night to work on his _literature_.

Needless to stay my mood started to decrease as the days I hadn't seen him started to increase. I was already pissed when I pushed the door to the store open. I shouldn't be here. It was like 12pm, felt like I never saw this place in daylight. 

We all had switched shifts with Steph so she could take her exam, but I truly hate working in the afternoon. Everyone is so damn awake and happy and chipper. I prefer the midnight misery. I glance around the store, trying to figure out just how insufferable the customers would be today. The answer seemed to be: very.

A bunch of pretentious fucks who thought their presence alone would make this place trendy. They wore these flood pants and oversized shirts, looking right out of the local Goodwill, but in front of them sat a fucking MacBook and their Nikes were cleaner than the linoleum. I hate them. Over my goddamn dead body would this become a meeting point for hipsters. This place would stay as low-key as possible. Coffeeshop in the morning, burger shack in the night.

I make it to the register at last, clock in and greet the two girls I’d be working with, who were already pretty damn annoying with their loud chatting. I ready myself for a long, suffering shift.

*

It's a quarter before 6pm when I dozy look outside the windows which cover the whole front of the store, waiting for Steph to come in so I can finally leave. Other than a few of my archenemies, guys with rolled up jeans and beanies, who kept asking me for the additives inside the food, nothing bad happened, but I feel fucking drained after a shift with customers who weren't either drunk or morning-groggy, who were chipper and ready for some small talk. I was ready for my couch.

I notice one of the beanie-guys approaching the counter but at the same time I see a tall woman with long dark curls outside the store who I recognize as Steph. I can already hear the blissful sound of a hot shower back home, when I realize that she isn't coming inside. The hell is she waiting for?

“Excuse me?”, Beanie-baby asks. I shush him with my hand as I crane my neck to get a better look at her. Beanie-baby huffs. 

Now I see who hold her in her tracks. It's Eugene. It has to be him, I'd recognize that special kind of red hair everywhere. It's not unusual for Steph to take a smoke outside before coming in, but I wonder why she's talking to Eugene when she doesn't even want to serve him most days.

“Hey”, I call to one of the girls. “Mind if I clock out early?” I'm not missing the chance to talk to him if I'm not in tonight and he's not coming in during the morning anymore. 

She frowns at me, eyes darting to the customer who I'm ignoring completely. “It's only ten more minutes and Steph isn't here yet…”

I had to respect her for talking back to me, but after five years of night shifts and not one single sick leave, Mac, the manager, told me I'm the junior manager of this shit hole, or whatever stupid term he used. The title didn't came with any real advantages or a pay raise so I didn't really give a shit about it, but it was nice in moments like this when I wanted to bend the rules a little for my benefits. So I just glare at her, because I'm the “junior manager” and actually never ask for anything…

She knows that and rolls her eyes. “Fine…”

“Thanks!” I beam at her, which makes her frown even more. “Take care of that wacko, will ya?”

“Hey!” Beanie-baby protests, but I'm already in the back, getting rid of my uniform and grabbing my smokes. I'll make it seem completely casual: “Oh you two out here? I'm just taking a smoke…”

I walk outside the store, finally free for a few hours before I have to return the next day. I breath in deep, the taking in the semi-fresh city air. The smell of grease is truly terrible. It stinks the whole day and when I come home it smells even worse, because the smell of fries and burgers clashes with my own scent, my laundry detergent and shit like scented candles I keep to make my place smell better.

Eugene has his back turned to me, so Steph notices me first and waves at me with a smile, I wave back. Seeing them chat is quite bizarre, maybe she did it for me so that I would get a chance to speak to him. She noticed his absence too, probably just because of my whining, though. 

I'm already grinning a little, as Eugene turns towards me, ready for some banter, but my face drops right away, when I see what he's got in his hand. “What the hell is this?!” I exclaim and point at what he’s holding.

“Oh no…”, Steph mumbles.

Eugene looks confused. “Huh?”

I stare at him in shock. I can live with his fabric handkerchief and his little shawl but that is a _huge_ stretch. It feels like I'm ascending to another universe by the secondhand embarrassment I experience. 

“Did you know about this?!” I ask Steph, barely turning my eyes away from that hideous thing in his hand.

“No!”, she holds her palms up. “I just met him here before going in.” She tries hard to hold in her grin, biting her lip. “At least he's not vaping…” 

That’s barely better.

Eugene's gaze darts back and forth between us. “Are you talking about my pipe?”

“Don't say it out loud!” I put my hands over my ears as if that would safe anything. As if that would erase my memory. I wish I never came out here, wish I would’ve never seen it. I pictured all those nice things in my head about him and I and he ruins them within two seconds.  
  
He seems completely unfussed by my sheer discomfort, he even chuckles. “What is your problem?”

“It has charm… like a cute old grandfather…” Steph is still trying to convince me that it's not that bad. But it is. It's quite bad.

“Or like a fucking hipster!”, I huff. After dealing with them the whole day I come out here to _this_.

I'm trying to contain myself and look at Eugene. He notices my glance and shrugs, almost apologetically, but there is also a smile tucking on his lips, “Steph already told me I could be the lord of the hipsters…”

Good! Course it's true. He's in good company with all the weird folks around, but I never saw a pipe among the people in their late 30's with their skateboards, or the impro dancers or the girls with that strange little fringe. He's something special and this time not in the best way possible. 

“As long as you don't lure more of those dipshits in”, I grumble and shake my head. 

I don't know what would be worse, more of the hipsters or less of him… What other dirty secrets does he keep, which I _don't_ want to find out? “You've got something else to confess, Eugene?”

“Something else than writing porn and smoking a pipe?”

Steph chokes on her smoke. She watched us bemusedly, now she gets the payback. 

“Like ironing my socks? Maybe?”

I snort and shake my head. I could see him ironing his socks. Better than him smoking. Thought he'd be too disciplined for a vice like this. But it makes him more human at the same time. Posh, smoking, porn writer Eugene. How fucking strange! 

“It's a bad habit, you know?”, I muse. “The smoking, not the ironing.”

“U-hu.”  
He's taking a drag from his pipe and I hate to admit that it's kinda hot. His youthful face with that thing I only ever saw men in movies, with suits and slicked back hair smoke. They were sophisticated, charming, always flirting with a dame. Well, the flirting part could be a little more daring, but the other points did fit him. Perhaps my fantasies weren't ruined after all...   
“It helps me to calm down. So what.”, Eugene says.

“Ever tried to cut down on the caffeine?” I say and look at Steph who's still grinning widely, standing behind him. She knows fully well that I like this kind of banter, someone who's returning the tease. He acts quite stubborn, pipe or not, he knows I’m right about the bad habit part. Wouldn't have guessed that in the beginning with his fumbling and blushing, even though I got a taste of it early on with the joke about his intolerance.

He tilts his head as if he's thinking about it. “Wouldn't come here that often anymore, then.”

“Oh no!” Steph calls out and even grabs his arm as if he's about to run away right now. “You're the only reason Mer isn't an insufferable ass all the time!”

He looks at her and frowns. Because of the statement, or because of the slip of my real name, I don't know. I get a little nervous, she shouldn't have said that. 

“Didn't your shift already start?”, I say a little brusquely.

She rolls her eyes and lets go of Eugene. “Yes, boss!” 

She stomps out her cigarette and walks past grandad-hipster-Gene, waving at him, she seemingly made her peace with him, figured he isn't that bad after all and I bet she enjoyed seeing him talk back to me. 

I don't notice that she reaches out to ruffle my hair, until it's too late. I fucking hate it when she does it, feels patronizing especially in front of a guy I still want to seduce, in spite of his awful habit. 

“Steph, I'm going to kill you!” 

I attempt to run after her as she slips inside the store, sticking out her tongue. I give her the finger through the glass and return to Eugene with a grunt. “Fucking immature.”

“So this is you being in a good mood?” he asks, taking another drag. 

I sigh and fish my smokes out of my pocket. “It was a long day, okay?” 

I pat my jeans in search for my lighter, as he hands me his. It's a heavy silver storm lighter. E. B. S. is engraved to it. 

"Fancy”, I comment and hand it back to him after lighting my cigarette. 

He strokes over the gravure with his thumb and slips it back into his pocket. I glance at him sidelong. He's gone quiet, over is the banter and my bewilderment because of the pipe. 

I'm trying to get back into the mood when I say: “I knew you were a rich boy.”

He frowns a little when he's looking at me. “I'm not rich. You think those stories are paying a fortune?”

I eye him up and down. He knows he has the mannerism of someone who comes from money. His ring, the pipe and the lighter only adding to it. But I'm not going to argue with him when he's furnishing me that kind of a fit occasion. “I thought the porn industry is filthy rich!”

He gets the pipe out of his mouth to put it away. Sadly so, I liked having an excuse to look at his lips… “Visual porn, maybe.”

“No interest in that?”

He gives me a tired glance to which I sneer at him. I’d click on a video he’s in, maybe one in which he’s just pleasuring himself, since I’m not keen on seeing him with another guy. They’d show him, how he coats his fingers with some lube, slowly, suggestively. A quick shot of his face, lips parted, eyes heavy lidded, pupils blown wide with arousal. A choked moan echoing through the room, followed by the obscene sound of his fist around his dick, as he’d start pumping his length. 

I clear my throat before I'm getting a fucking boner in the middle of the street.   
“Why don't you come in during the morning anymore?” I ask to try and think of something different than those dirty thoughts which aren't really fair to have if he didn't even show clear interest in me. Yet.

“It's none of your business”, he says, but adds a little smirk as he stores his pipe inside his backpack. “But I'm on vacation.”

I look around a little irritated. Vacation at your local burger grill, or what? “Doesn't look like it.”

“Yeah well…” he lets out a sigh and starts fumbling with his hands, his ring again. “I wanted to visit my family but that didn't work out.” I see his jaw tensing a bit. “So instead I force myself to sleep during the night and start working in the afternoon. You know, as a treat.” 

I frown at him. I'd like to think that we are both a little insomniac. That's why I'm working here in the first place. If I’m working in the night, I at least have the day to myself. But he's just constantly working. Typing on his laptop during the early hours of the night and heading out in the morning for his daytime job. 

“You're spending your paid leave at the same shitty burger grill you come to everyday… to work? On your vacation where you should, you know, relax?” 

He either doesn't catch the true concern in my voice or he ignores it in favor of saying: 

“I like it here. Excellent service. Very friendly employees.”

I snort a laugh, blowing out some smoke I just inhaled. He sure appeared a little like a workaholic. Jittery because of the caffeine, an exhausted look to his face, the skin under his eyes thin, veins visible. Just like mine, only paler. 

“If you have that much free time”, I say and stub my cigarette out on the sole of my shoe, keeping the filter between my fingers. “You should move your ass here and try those marmalades I told you about.” 

He shoots me a sidelong glance, mulling that offer over. It's really not that exhilarating, but maybe this way he gets to spend some time away from his laptop. 

“Sure”, he nods and grabs inside his jeans pocket. “Text me when you're in?” 

I bite back a grin. He wants my number? Well too fucking bad that I don't own one of those reflecting bricks which have to be replaced every two years, or I would have asked for his number right away. It certainly takes away an opportunity of staying in touch, but it also helps with doing things spontaneously or right in the moment when they're happening.   
“I don't own a cell phone…”

He lets his hand with his phone in it sink. “Are you serious?”, he huffs. “And I'm the hipster?” 

I laugh. “Just come in in the morning”, I say and shoot him a lopsided smile. “I'll be there.”

***

It takes another week for us to meet again. Since I was back to my night shifts and he tried to enjoy his vacation, but one morning, after an incredibly boring shift, I hear his voice from the counter. 

“Is Snafu working?”, he asks and I have to suppress the smile which is tucking at my lips. 

It's nice hearing him asking for me. Even though it feels a bit weird that he's calling me Snafu. I'm not sure why, because I don't know him that well yet and most people here call me that, but it's a nickname I don't quite cheer as much as I used to. 

Perhaps I'd like to tell him to call me by my real name. This is taking way longer than I thought either way. We've past the legal expiry date for random one night stands. If we're doing this it'd be a least a fuck where you know each other's names, maybe even the town the other grew up in. But before I can muse any longer over this, Natalie calls me to the front.

“Mornin'”, I say as I step up to the counter.

“Morning” he says and smiles. His hair is tousled as always. 

It's finally gotten warm in May, so he's wearing a t-shirt. We're both far from muscular but he's a bit more meatier than I am, so there is actually some mass to his upper arms, which I like. His pointy jaw is growing a ginger shadow, which gets a little more intense over his top lip. I wonder if he can grow a beard.

“What are you doin' here? Aren't you on vacation?” I ask with a grin.

“Couldn't sleep anymore.“ He hunches his shoulders and sighs. Sounds like that's happening to him regularly. “Someone told me I could try a variety of jams here?”

I can't deny it, I'm a little happy that he actually came in. I could imagine doing more exciting things while on leave than trying off-the-shelf marmalade at a mediocre fast food store which had a little diner-like feeling to it, at best. But maybe he doesn't have that many friends around here, they could be back at his hometown, or maybe they're working. 

“Don't know who told you that” I mutter and smack my lips as if I'm sorry. “We're not one of those fancy breakfast places, we're a burger grill, you know?”

“What a shame”, he says, bemusement in his voice. “Guess I have to find a McCafé then.”

I'm straightening up immediately. “Don't you dare throw your money at them!” Finger pointing accusingly at him. “You're supposed to support small businesses these days.”

He chuckles. “I should throw my money at your boss, then?”

I grimace. “Sounds even worse.” 

Just the thought that Mac's making money with our labor despite never being around or covering shifts makes me furious. I'm sure there are bosses who are okay people, who help in the shop, agonizing their employees with their present, but Mac doesn’t even do that. He owns this place, so apparently he owns us and our time and I'm not a fan of the whole owning more than your very personal stuff thing, anyway. 

“I'm clocking out in half an hour”, I say to Eugene. “So I'm going to steal all the marmalade we have and come over as soon as I'm done.” 

He huffs a laugh. “Now you're stealing from corporate?” I shrug, Mac won't notice and Natalie is a little communist herself so she won't care. “As long as you don't get in trouble for that.”

I shoot him a toothy grin. “I'd say it's worth it.” 

*

Little more than thirty minutes later we're sitting together at a table in the back. Five different sorts of marmalade in front of us, as I promised. I also found honey and off-brand Nutella. I heated up a few bagels and threw in one of the frozen croissants which Mac keeps stored for special occasions like Open Sunday's in the city. This is my special occasion so I think it's warranted that I took one. And I brought a fresh pot of coffee, but when I'm attempting to pour him some he puts a hand over his mug. 

“Oh no, thanks!”, he says. “I'm trying to cut down on the caffeine.”

“Are you serious?” I ask and frown at him. “Is it because of what I said the other day?”

He shrugs. “Not exactly. But when I'm off work I like to detox a little, you know?” Detox. What is this? Eat Pray Love? “It's better for my health anyway.”

I place the coffee pot back on the table, I'm still standing, to get him something different if he truly doesn't want it. “A cup of coffee won't kill you”, I mutter.

He laughs, “Don't be so sure about that”, he says, still chuckling while I try to figure out where the joke was. “I have a heart condition.” 

I guess I'm getting a little pale at that, slouching down on the chair next to me, because he hastily adds: 

“It's nothing serious! Just some irregularities. Have them since my childhood.”

I'm staring at him, eyes nearly falling out of my head. He drinks coffee like it's fucking water! That big ass cup? Is he kidding me? With his condition?! 

“I'm never serving you again!”, I gasp out. “What if you're going to end up having a heart attack?”

He huffs, visibly irritated. “I'm not dying, Snaf.”

I look at him doubtfully. He's truly a little careless with his health and that stresses me out for some kind of reason. I know I smoke and that's stupid and all but other than that I'm quite conscious about health stuff. I'm disinfecting my hands after riding the subway and I've never ever touched one of those toxic energy drinks. If I had a heart murmur… I probably wouldn't even risk green tea.

Eugene clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the focus on his health. 

“So what are we gonna start with?”, he says and looks over all the little pots and jars in front of him. “I can tell you right away, that I can't eat that”, he says and points at the ‘Nutella’. “Nut allergy.”

I swallow down my concerns, it's not what I want to focus on, when he's here and willing to commit to my stupid suggestion of trying plain ass marmalade. So I pretend to shake my head in disappointment. 

“You're a walking medical condition, Gene”, I sigh. “Can't eat dairy, can't eat nuts. What do you even eat?” I ask, just to tease him. “Don't tell me you're also a vegetarian or some shit.”

He smirks and answers, without missing a beat: “I am.”

“Unbelievable…” I huff a laugh, one more thing to add to his hipster being. Though I bet he didn't become one because it's trendy. There are legitimate reasons. “Me too.”

He laughs. “You're joking!”

I bite down on my lip to hold my smile in. “I'm serious.” 

Even though I have to admit it's kinda strange. People often ask me how I manage to work at a fast food restaurant but I don't have a problem with cooking meat for others. I just have a problem with eating it myself. That's what I tell Eugene: “You know what they feed those animals? They're full of antibiotics. They'll poison us slowly but surely.”

“Oh...” he lets out and looks as if he's about to contemplate some deep thought. “It's not about them being tortured their whole lives until they're killed and then being thrown into the trash, because they're just mass products to society?”

I shrug. “Well of course that's shitty too.”

He arches a brow and for a brief moment I fear that we could fall into a full blown veggie-moral-worldview argument but then he just chuckles softly. 

“You know the joke where two vegetarians meet at a burger grill?”

I snort out a laugh. We're clashing with this place like we probably clash personality wise. Still, it's so easy to talk to him. Not many people manage to make me laugh with them instead of about them. 

And because the mood is so light and the sun is shining and the birds are singing (pigeons, if any), I'm getting a little daring. 

“I tell you what”, I say as I grab a bagel. “Were going to find out which sort you like best.” I start cutting little pieces out of the circle. “By me feeding you this.”

I motion to the bagel pieces in front of me. It's risky, but… I can't wait for another damn week. I have to step up my game.

“You're going to do what?” he asks, voice a little high pitched, eyes wide.

A grin is spreading over my face. I hope his heart doesn't lose its rhythm because of this. “I'm gonna feed ya.”

He chuckles nervously. “You're not going to do that!”, he shakes his head. “I can try them myself just fine.”

“You sure about that? Cause you're staring at them for forever now and I'm getting hungry.”

He starts shuffling in his seat. Looking around. There are only two old ladies sitting at a table with their back towards us and a guy in a suit who chucks down his breakfast at the counter. Natalie and the girl who came in after me are watching us, of course, but they're trying to be as subtle as possible. 

“Come on, you could use that as an inspiration for one of your stories.” I nudge my foot against his under the table. He glares at me and I attempt to smile genuinely at him, trying to ease the mood.

“Don't know if this ain't overstepping the customer service”, he mutters.

“My shift ended some time ago, boo”, I say with a smirk.

*

I coat all the bagel pieces with different kinds of marmalade, trying to hide the labels from him, so he doesn't know which is which, right away. 

“Done”, I say as I place the last piece on my plate. “Now close your eyes.”

“What?” the crease returns between his brows. He has to question everything. Always thinking 10 steps ahead of him. Must be tiring. Maybe I can help him to let go a little. 

“You have to concentrate on the taste”, I try to convince him.

“It's just marmalade…” he huffs.

“But it's part of the fun” I say and somehow this statement doesn't allow for any more arguing.

He doesn't look exactly relaxed but he places his forearms on the table and leans onto them. “Can't believe I'm doing this…” he says as he closes his eyes.

 _Me neither_ , I think as I grin now that he can't see it. I grab the first piece of bagel. “Open your mouth”, I drawl.

His eyes snap open immediately. “No! You can just place them in my hand!”

“Eugene please”, I sigh. “You're way too closed off for someone who's writing smut for a living.” 

He grumbles a response I can't make out. 

“ _It's just marmalade_ ”, I repeat his comment from before in a mocking tone. Unable to undermine his own argument he glares at me before he closes his eyes again. 

“Atta boy” I say more gentle.

He cracks one eye open. “You washed your hands, right?”

I roll my eyes. “Jesus, I'm working with food, of course I have…” 

This may not be the Ritz but we're clean. I make sure we are. I may be bad at customer service but I care about the kitchen. And because I'm actually kinda offended I say: 

“But I'll spit on your onion rings, if you don't shut up.”

Now it's him who rolls his eyes. “Alright, Slim Shady.”

I smirk, shuffling closer until our knees bump together under the table, he doesn't move away. 

“Now shut your eyes and open your mouth, Gene”, I say low-voiced.

“Lord almighty”, he mutters but does as I say. His eyes flutter shut and his mouth cracks slowly open.

It's kind of thrilling, seeing him open his mouth with his eyes closed while he lets me feed him in public. Someone he barely even knows. Would he have opened his mouth so willingly for one of the girls who kept flirting with him? I highly doubt it.

I relish in the sight a little. His parted lips, rather thin, but nicely shaped. His small straight teeth, pointy canines. They are kinda cute, as far as teeth can be cute. I feel a wave of heat rush over me, which startles me. Sure I had expected to feel something. Had expected for a few pictures to pop up in my head suggesting me what to do with this pretty mouth of his. Opening willingly for me, his tongue pink and slick. But I hadn't expected this kind of affection which was washing over me. Didn't expect thinking about closing his mouth again so I could steal a kiss from him.

He starts to frown as I don't make a move to feed him. I hastily reach out to his mouth. 

“Close”, I say with a raspy voice and he closes his lips around the first piece, his hand coming up to help guide it into his mouth. Our hands brush briefly at that and I'm glad he keeps his eyes shut because I'm sure that I'm blushing. Which is probably more embarrassing for me than for him being fed in public.

He chews as I try to play it cool. Try to think of something else than how it'd be like to smooch some of that jam from his lips. 

“Easy”, he mumbles, mouth still full. “That's strawberry.”

“Didn't ask you to identify them” I grumble. My mood dipped a little. That was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be sexy, not cute or whatever. “You ought to decide what you want to eat.”

He cracks an eye open again, smiling. “Feed me another one, then”, he says low-voiced.

And I do as he says. Fuck, I would feed him a whole goddamn meal.

***

He came in regularly again. His “vacation” was over and so was his caffeine break, though I refused to fill his cup to the rim, like I used to. I wouldn't be the one responsible for his death. He protested at first, but let it slide after a few times. He was even coming in a bit earlier, I noticed. Maybe so we could talk for a little longer.

Other than that it was back to small talk when I poured him his coffee in the morning, or a little more than that, when he was in during the night and I sat down with him for a few minutes to chat, reciting the menu to him to get him to order something which he never did. Bougy ass.

I wondered where this was heading. The feeding certainly had been the most exciting thing that had happened between us the last few days. I kept shooting suggestive stuff his way, teasing him about his stories, asking about the plot, trying to get some details out of him, but he either waved me off or didn't really catch it. I almost felt like one of the girls who so desperately tried to get his attention in the past. 

This morning would be different, though. This morning I held a piece of information which was quite priceless and would for sure lead to some teasing. 

*

Steph had come in during the night and smacked a book on the counter.   
“I did a little research on him!” 

Her eyes gleamed. I've never seen her this excited before. Not even after an old creepy bastard tipped her 50 bucks although she served him cold coffee and the wrong kind of burger. I had stared skeptically at the book in front of us. It was a collection of short stories. Explicit short stories.

“He's good”, she hummed. 

We had nearly finished the story when I found that I was… disappointed. Even though it was gay porn and not some kitschy housewife stuff, it hadn't sparked the kind of sensation I thought it would have. 

“Is he?”

“I could see myself getting off to this”, Steph says and draws the book closer to her.

I pull a face at that, not knowing if I feel so comfortable about Steph enjoying it so much. Shouldn't I be the one digging it?

It's not that I don't think it's hot. It is kinda hot. I wouldn't say I'm into role-playing, but who hasn't thought about fucking a guy in a uniform? But it's also kinda weird. Feels like a peep into his bedroom even though I can't possibly know how much of it is fiction. And maybe I'm a hypocrite anyway, because I had imagined quite some other scenarios in my head with him in the primary role. 

“It's just fiction...” I mumble and glance at her sidelong.

“Okay?”, she says, slightly irritated. “Maybe you can inspire him to something new.”

I huff. I would try, even though it's not all I think about anymore. Sure he's in my thoughts occasionally, can't really help that, but it's not fantasizing about him. I also happen to ask myself what he's doing throughout the day, what other stuff he's working on, what he's doing on the weekends… 

She flips over to the last page and places her hand on the bottom, covering the letters. “Haven't shown you the best part yet”, she says and grins at me. “He goes by a pseudonym.”

I raise my eyebrows at her but not in surprise. “Would be a complete idiot if he didn't.”

“Yeah”, she shushes me with a motion of her hand. “But his pseudonym is absolutely hilarious!”

“Show me then!” I say and nudge at her hand.

A devilish grin spreads over her face. “What do I get in return?”, she asks. Nothing in this world is for free, huh? 

I snort and shove her lightly. “I won't tell the manager that you're reading porn during your shift.” 

“You're the one flirting with the porn guy during your shift!”, she huffs and shoves me back. “Fine, but I want to be there when you tell him that you know!” 

I grumble but agree. She was the one finding out so I guess I owed her. I stare at the bottom of the paper as she moves her hand away. “The fuck kinda name is Bondurant?” 

She smacks my arm. “Who the fuck cares? Can we please focus on his last name!?”

A chuckle escapes my lips. That is actually kinda funny. Equal part suggestive and immoderate. I bet it suits him perfectly. 

*

Being the tactical man I am I don't lose one second and blurt the information out as soon as I see him entering the store.

“Mornin' Sledgehamma!” I call. Steph who's standing besides me, as promised, snorts loudly.

He stops in his tracks. “Oh Lord have mercy…” he mutters.

We grin at him like idiots. “Is it because you have a huge dick?” Steph blurts out and we both start laughing again.

“How old are your two?”, he grumbles as he walks up to the counter. “It's not even that funny.”

“Stop pouting, Sledgehamma. No false modesty.” I eye him up and down. If the saying is true about noses and the relation of their size to a certain other body part… I guess then he has nothing to be ashamed of. 

He notices that I'm staring at him, but I don't care. He frowns and I bite down on my lip, before he casts his eyes down. 

“Can I have my coffee now, please?”, he mumbles. 

Steph straightens her back and attempts an salute “Yes Sir, Corporal Sledgehammer, Sir!”, she shouts and instantly cracks up again.

Eugene visibly cringes. He seems to get what she’s talking about right away and it doesn’t look like he has fond memories of it. “Oh God, you read _that_ story?”

“I thought it was hot”, Steph muses. “Two Marines in an unobserved moment. The foxholes, the mud, the rifle oil...”, she recalls and leans heavily against me all the while Eugene turns as red as his hair.

“Okay, okay” I say and shove her into an upright position. “Time for you to go home. I'll take care of Sledgehammer.”

She grins and looks back and forth between us two. “Oh I'm sure you will!” She ruffles my hair again, but after a whole night shift I’m too tired to fight her back. 

*

It's a typical Saturday morning, so I can sit down at a table with Eugene, after Steph has left, even though I’m the only one scheduled right now. The clubbing people are already home, no one wants a burger at 8 o'clock. 

Eugene gets his coffee, decaffeinated, I insist on it since it's the weekend and he doesn't have to work. On top of that I get him one of the vegan cupcakes Mac wants us to sell now, alongside other stuff, like matcha tea and quinoa patties. He expects us to be busy at the end of the month, when the Pride events would start. The main parade would go down two cross streets from us and since our daytime customers are already pretty alternative he believes there will be even more who'd appreciate these new additions to the menu.

I sit with my back to the window so I can see if someone walks in, but it’s unlikely, we’re not popular with people who go out for breakfast on the weekend.

“No nuts, no dairy, a little soy milk and sugar”, I say as I put the plate with the cupcake in front of him, I even got him a fork. He's not the only one who's fancy from time to time. “I hope your heart can manage that.”

“Did I order this?”, he asks a little confused. 

“Nope” I answer. The sun is hitting his face. His eyes are actually quite hazel, I noticed the first time we sat like this. They aren't so dark in the sunlight as they are in the low light of the night. I'm kinda digging them, when they're all dark though, as if the pupils were blown. “Pretty people get them for free.”

His frown gets joined by a faint blush over his cheeks. I'd like to reach out and smooth down the crease which is coming out harsh between his brows, but that would be far too intimate.

“That story sparked something in you, didn't it?”, he mumbles.

A grin breaks over my face. It wasn't exactly the story, his face alone was enough to spark something in me, but I can’t tell him that, so I lean over the table on my arms and say: “Well, it was pretty insightful.”

“Great”, he huffs as he picks at the cupcake. I chose one with a purple topping and a plum-filling, since we figured out that plum was his favorite sort of marmalade. 

“I was pretty young when I wrote this”, he says after a small pause. “You'd pay me a dime and I'd write anything for you so… please don't take it that seriously.”

“Only a dime?”, I beam at him. “Damn Sledgehammer, you were selling yourself short!”

He takes a sip from his cup, “Was a difficult time”, he says, sounding as if his thoughts are far away from me or this place. 

Not quite sure what to make out of this, this sudden gloominess, I resolve to the one thing I do know about: Teasing. 

“Is it true, though?” I ask, a sneer already tucking at my lips.

“What?” he asks over the rim of his cup.

“That you named yourself Sledgehammer because you have a huge pecker?”

He rolls his eyes as I chuckle. 

“No” he says and puts his cup down. “My pseudonym stems from my surname. And I didn't pick it. It was the publisher.”

I pull a face. “That's super lame.”

“Well it's the truth”, he says and leans a bit over the table as he adds, in a lower voice: “Or the official version of the story.” 

A small laugh escapes my lips. He inclines his head and leans back in his chair, smirking. 

“What about the first name?” Bondurant? Or what was it? “Sounds even more outdated than Eugene does.” It's supposed to be funny, to keep the good mood rolling, but the smile on his face withers. And I feel the mood shift instantly. He sits up straight again, hands clutching at his cup, making a little clink sound as his ring tingles against the ceramic.

“It's my middle name” he says with a small voice. “It's a family thing. Felt right at the time to publish it under a gay erotic story.”

I’m slouching in my chair, as if I could escape this situation by slipping under the table. I fully well understand his implication but I can't really come up with a response which isn't a joke. 

“Your family isn't keen on getting your autograph on one of your works?” I say with a nervous chuckle. 

He lets out a sigh. “They aren't keen on my autograph, they aren't keen on reading from me, they aren't keen on seeing me.” He fumbles with his ring, pushing it off his finger all together. 

I stare at it as if it would burn a hole in the table, right next to the the plate with the cupcake which lays there, forgotten. I'm a little swamped with the sudden change from banter to serious talk. 

“Because of what you write?”, I ask lamely, not sure what to say in the first place. 

“Because of what I am, Snafu.” I risk a glance towards him, his eyes are stern on me. “Wasn't always so free in the way I live my life. Lots of restrictions. You know?”

I nod but turn my eyes back down. Fuck I'm so bad at stuff like this, but he's talking about himself. Isn't that what I wanted? Well, I had hoped we'd talk about more lighthearted stuff but still, I couldn't ruin this because of my uncomfortableness.   
“Where are you from?” I ask.

“Mobile, Alabama.”

“You're family still lives there?”

Another sigh. “Yes. My parents. My brother, his wife and their kids, who I'll probably never meet and all those conservative relatives live outside Mobile, in a small town in the south. You get the drill.”

I don't say anything for a while. Thinking of my family back in the south. Sure, I didn't stay to live there, but which twenty-something year old stays in their hometown? We all want to make it somewhere else. I didn't want to work my back sore in a job like my Daddy does. Which is kinda ironic, because most people would think I'm working a shitty job regardless. But I didn't left because of him or any other family member. I came out at sixteen, brought my boyfriend home the following Christmas. I even made it back a couple times to celebrate Pride in New Orleans. I never felt any restrictions in that matter.

“That sucks” I say before I know I did. Startled over my own words I rush to look at him, making sure he isn't mad at me.

He lets out a laugh. “It sure does! Sucks huge fucking balls which my mother would die over if she'd knew I write about them.” 

Despite the tension or maybe because of it, I start laughing and because it's especially funny hearing such a thing out of his usually pretty well behaved mouth. And he laughs too. We laugh for a long time until my stomach hurts and his eyes run. 

Eugene wipes at his eyes with his handkerchief, as we catch our breath and silence settles around us. It feels like the day I was feeding him those bagel pieces. It's a calm atmosphere between us. I'm getting daring again, only this time not in a suggestive way, but in a way to learn something else about him than his favorite sort of marmalade. My hand moves towards his ring, abandoned on the table. “That a family thing too?”

He follows my pointing finger and nods. “Paps gave to me before I left. 'Remember your roots' he told me”, Eugene says after a short break. 

I take a closer look at it. Kinda looks like a signet ring. His family has to be _quite_ rich, with a family tree that traces back to the fucking Mayflower or some shit. 

“Whatever that's supposed to mean”, he adds with a frown. “Because whenever I try to reach out they're denying me.”

He looks melancholic. They probably didn't let him visit during his vacation, so he had stayed here and worked… Which makes me sad on his regard. My mom basically throws a family feast whenever I come home. And she always asks if I had met a nice, young gentleman I'd bring home with me. Well I hadn't yet. 

“I'm just glad I got it instead of Edward”, Eugene suddenly says, a little smug to my surprise. 

“Your brother?”

“Stupidest asshole on the whole planet”, he snorts. “Went to Afghanistan and brags about it ever since. Snitched on me and my boyfriend from college. That's how my parents found out.” 

My stomach sinks a stretch. His own brother. My sister would have never done such a thing. She was always supportive, if a bit annoying at times, pointing at every guy back in school, asking if I'd like him. 

“My mother nearly passed out from crying so much. My father had to inject her something. He's a doctor, though! No worries”, Eugene rushes to say. “Still felt like I was in a novella from the 1800's.” The tone of his voice sounded less sad now, if a little grim instead.

I can't help it. I have to ask. “They kicked you out?” 

“Yep”, he picks up the ring again, staring at it. “Moved west then, to create some space between home and me. Lived by the coast for a couple of years, whole other experience than living in a small town, so that was nice. But my parents weren't paying for college anymore and I didn't make enough money, so I had to drop ornithology.”

“The fuck is that?” I interrupt him.

“Study of birds.”

“What the hell were you going to do with that?”

“Hey!”, he huffs out a laugh. “It's an important field of study!” And then, with a little smirk: “Besides, it seems like I'm having a thing for badly paying professions.”

I snort a laugh. “And your boyfriend?” He frowns, not following. “From college”, I add. “He supported you?” 

“Oh!”, he's waving a dismissive hand at me. “No. That ended pretty soon after I left. He obviously couldn't just move with me. We tried long distance, but he cheated on me and… yeah.”

I grunt as an answer. What an asshole. Cheating was the absolute worst. If you want to sleep around, don't commit to a relationship. I wasn't really the type for long-term but that was always clear with the people I had a thing with. I would have made it clear to Eugene too. But we already spend too much time together, I knew too much about him to fuck and forget about him.

“Anyway”, he says and puts his ring back on again. “Let's not talk about my depressive past anymore.” 

He looks a little closed off and I almost regret, that our conversation had become so serious, when we started with the perfect teasing matter. 

I scratch my neck. “Sorry, didn't want to make you… uncomfortable.”

“That would be the first time, I think”, he says with a smirk. “It's alright though, you didn't.”

I smile, a little drained after the talk about those heavy topics. I nudge the plate with the cupcake closer to him. 

“Eat up, buttercup”, I say and he snorts a hearty laugh.

***

He was as strict as ever when he made me promise not to read any more of his erotic stories. "They're dumb anyway", he insisted. He told me, that he only slid into the branch by doing commission work to support himself after he was on his own. He kept writing them, because people started to recognize his name - or his pseudonym - and he actually got some good money for them, but that wasn't what he wanted to do for his whole life. He moved here, because it was an artsy city and he hoped to make some new contacts outside of the erotic sector. I followed his wish and didn't search for any more of his stories, even though I was still curious about them. 

“You should write about me someday” I say to him one morning.

I thought about this: Being in one of his stories for adults myself, would allow me to read them, without breaking my promise. It could give me valuable intel of what he’s into. Besides, the thought of him fantasizing about me and writing it down, really did it for me. 

“What about?” he asks, leaning out of the way as a man grabs past him for the napkins. It's Monday. Slowest night in the weak, but busiest morning. Still I find the time to chat with him.

After denying me more of his spicier stuff, I asked him to show me at least some of his other work and he did. Early poems of his, which got published, but made him cringe nowadays. The articles he wrote for his current job at a gay lifestyle magazine. A weekly column under his real name and a occasional piece of fiction by B. Sledgehammer, which he didn't show me. Doing commissions on the side. The column was entertaining. He commented on politics and the TV program although he confessed to me that he only watched the commercial trailers and occasionally he wrote something about his private life.  
But what I really enjoyed was his prose fiction. I was a TV kid growing up, but I picked up reading after a few years of living in the big city. The act itself was somehow therapeutic, using your imagination to picture stuff, helped me calm down. Helped me during the night, when I couldn’t sleep, far more than staring at a flashing screen. I read my way through some genres before I knew what I liked. And I liked his prose, it was good.

“Dunno you're the one with the creative brain.”

He's the one who finds all those beautiful words. For all these big and significant feelings but also for the mundane ones, which are so hard to describe. I can only look at him admiringly, as he stirs his coffee to dissolve the sugar. With his eyes focused on his cup, his most prominent feature is his nose. It probably is his most prominent feature regardless. Steph was totally right. It is big. And has a bump on the bridge and a crease at the tip. Nonetheless it suits him. He looks handsome. I wonder if he knows.

“Hmm…”, he muses. “You could be a pirate. Kids like pirates. You're language is foul enough for it, though I'd certainly have to tune it down a bit.”

“Does it have to be a children's story, though?”, I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

Turned out short stories for children were his passion projects. They were really cute, in almost all of them the animals happened to talk and they could be funny and lighthearted, but also a little more serious or guiding. One story I liked in particular. It was about a dog named Deacon, after the pup he owned as a child, who got lost in the woods and had to find its way back home, where his family was already desperately waiting for him. Made me think about my family which I hadn't seen since the last holiday and of his family, which treated him so poorly. I had asked him, if I could send that story to my sister, after I had read it for the first time. She has a little girl and I knew she'd love it. Maybe his nieces and nephews wouldn't get to read his stories, but I'd gladly share them with my family. He had smiled at that and gave me a couple of printed out pages, the next time we saw each other. Among them the story I asked him for and two other ones which hadn't been published yet, but he thought my niece would like. 

"No”, he responds a little cranky. “Tell me what you wanna be in, then.” He takes a sip from his cup. He left his XXL one at home. He didn't use it that often anymore after admitting his condition to me. What a shame now he'd have to drink a regular size while sitting down and talking to me.

It felt like his writing would bring us closer together in general, even though I could be a bit more open with him, he barely knew anything about me yet. Not even my real name, but telling him would include some ugly details about my past and even though I was quite sure, that he liked me, I didn’t dare yet... 

I'm a little lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice Natalie until she steps up to the counter.   
“You call that working?”, she asks me. I turn my head towards her, simply giving her the finger. 

She won't mind, she's tough, doesn't take any shit from Mac, the customers, or even me. She sneers and turns her attention to Eugene, eyeing him up and down. She never had a crush on him, because she isn't into men in the first place and we made fun of Steph for thinking that he was straight, but I still don't appreciate her staring, because, just like me, she too can be a little insufferable.  
  
“Listen, Sledgehammer”, she says leaning over the counter a little. I shoot him a quick glance. That nickname and his profession started to make the round, but it wasn't me who spread them. Gossip is Steph's one true flaw and he made the mistake to admit it to her himself. 

“Is that one of your creations?”, she points behind her where the radio is playing.

Peter Gabriel, who was trying to seduce someone by suggesting that he could be, among other things, that person's sledgehammer.

The way that she’s grinning tells me she’s proud of her joke, even though it was pretty cheap and painfully obvious. I'm mad that I wasn't the one who made it. 

Eugene just glares at her, kind of used to the teasing by now. The girls enjoy making comments about us and Natalie was the one who saw us doing the marmalade thing so it was needless to pretend in front if her. “How old do you think I am?”

“With the pipe and everything?”, she sneers and stares him down, so that he starts squirming in his seat. “At least 50!”

He huffs. “ _Thanks_.”

“Aw come on, Sledgehammer, at least your nickname has a better reputation than Snafus.” She’s standing next to me, elbowing my side.

I frown at her, narrowing my eyes.

Hers are gleaming with mischief, “What, he doesn't know?”

“Doesn’t know what?” Eugene looks back and forth between us.

Fucking hell, some of the girls talked way too much. None of them were actually around to witness any of my 'Snafu-behavior', that was long gone, but still they all thought they knew the story. It didn't help either, that Mac introduced me to every new face as 'Sanfu', so I could never get rid of that reputation. It- _I_ became some kind of urban legend around this place. 

“Don't you have some tables to clean?”, I snarl.

She grins a nasty smile, but grabs a cloth, leaving us alone again. Like a mean little hurricane which just appears to destroy the stuff around it. Sounds a little too familiar, maybe she should be the new Snafu.

Eugene glances at me sidelong. I feel exhausted after the long shift and angry at Natalie for bringing this shit up, but really it's my fault for not telling him my real name, so he would associate me with this stupid nickname. I'd really like to pick another day for this kind of talk but I guess if we're already at it… 

“Wanna smoke outside?” I ask him. I'll even accept his pipe without rolling my eyes into the back of my head, if that gets us out of here.

He looks after Natalie, probably contemplating if he's ready for this kinda talk himself. 

“Sure, let's go”, he says and picks up his stuff.

*

“Why do you have a sofa back here?”, Eugene asks as we sneak out through the backdoor.

“Was a gift from the labor union.” I mutter as we let ourselves fall onto the sofa. I take my hat off to scratch my head. He looks a bit confused. 

“I took it here”, I say with a roll of my eyes. 

He nods, as he's packing his pipe. If we did have a union, Mac would for sure get rid off me. As of now I was doing the dirty work for him, keeping trouble off his back, but if he actually had to follow submittals, I'd be useless on the one hand and probably too much of a _confounder_ on the other.

I get my smokes out, I'm down to one packet a week and quite pleased with that, but if we are going to talk about the origin of my nickname and my past I'd needed one of those, badly. 

Eugene lightens his pipe. Never thought I'd say that, but it's growing on me. Only adds character to his already strange person. Full of contradictions. Like earning a living with erotic stories, but unable to notice a bunch of girls flirting with him. Maybe even me flirting with him. I'm still not sure about that. 

He doesn't say anything, maybe he'd let the topic slide altogether. Isn't that what classy people do? Pretending they don't see inconvenient issues? But I'm glad that he isn't pushing me to explain myself. He gives me time and room. 

“Bum a light?”, I ask.

He hands me his lighter once again. This time I'm the one who strokes over the engraving. Eugene Bondurant Sledge. I know his full name, in which town he grew up in, about his bigoted family and even the story behind his pseudonym and he still calls me Snafu. I guess it's only fair to talk to him, after he trusted me with so much about himself.

“You remember when you told me to not take your old stories that seriously?” I ask him. I first want to establish some kind of background for this story, because otherwise I'd sound like a complete maniac. “That you were young and did it for the money?” He slowly nods, not following just yet what I'm trying to do or say. “Good, cause I've been young and out of money too.”

I hand him back his lighter and face him properly, pulling a leg under myself so I can sit and look at him without twisting my neck the whole time. He notices that and mirrors my pose, facing me back. I sigh and take a drag from my cigarette wishing in that moment I wasn't trying to quit cause I surely could use some more of these right now. “Ever looked up what ‘Snafu’ means?”

He shrugs. “Didn't know it was supposed to mean anything.”

I'm shuffling a little in my seat. I can only hope that honesty does pay itself out in the end and that I'm not scaring him away. “It's an acronym, stands for: Situation Normal All Fucked Up.”

He pulls a face at that. “Lovely.”

I huff. “It's a military term, my manager gave it to me.” When Eugene mentioned his brother and Afghanistan, it made me think of Mac. He was an asshole, who never shut up about his service as well. It wasn't even impressive or anything. He never was on a actual battlefield. He had served his time inside a tent in a secure area, reading maps, after his father had bought him his fancy rank. Just like he bought him this place. To practice being a business owner until he'd take some real responsibilities in Daddys company. He didn't give a shit about this store, especially not the first couple of years when I was still living up to my nickname. I sigh and press out through gritted teeth: “Earned it, after I knocked the first customer out.”

Eugene lifts up a palm, shaking his head slightly in confusion. “Slow down, slow down”, he says. “You're knocked out a customer and you're manager was fine with that?” 

“Never noticed there are only girls working here?” I'm taking another drag. “I was hired to look after them, during the night shifts.”

“Wow”, he deadpans after a short silence. “A knight in shining armor.”

I'd laugh at that but it's truly not like this.   
I had problems with catching sleep my whole life. Especially at night. So when I moved here a job at a burger grill, that only opened during the early hours of the morning, sounded like the perfect job. But such a business lures in quite some creeps, who would harass the girls. Mac didn’t give a shit about that, slimy scumbag. So I made it my responsibility to look after them. 

Those bastards who bothered the girls would often laugh in my face, when I confronted them, many of them towered me with a whole head, or were far more heavier than me, but I still managed to fuck them up, leave them knocked out on the ground.   
It had felt nice, in the beginning, having a reputation and also a purpose as the guy who'd punch every pathetic creatures who looked at one of the girls funnily. But it became too much. One Thanksgiving I came home with a split lip and a black eye and my Daddy pulled me to the side and told me to cut that shit out, before I got hurt for real. 'You want to end up in prison?', he asked. 'Or worse, dead?'

That shook me out of my misery. My sister was pregnant with her first child at the time and I wanted to see that kid grow up. I wanted to do better for my whole family. So I told Mac I wouldn't do the dirty work for him anymore and he actually made an effort to polish his business a little. Even though I'm sure he just did it so the girls wouldn't get the cops involved all the time. He kept me as an employee, because I still had that reputation and I was always good at making people uncomfortable with my stares alone, so I retreated to this and Mac was pleased again. And I stayed, because it was easier than searching for something new. 

I grimace at the thought. “Really, I'm more part of the problem” I say grimly. “I keep the creeps away so my manager can hire these young girls.” Saying it out loud doesn't make it any better. And having Eugene staring at me feels like I'm being judged. Rightfully so. “I'm just truly a fuck up.”

Eugene had put his pipe out a while ago and my cigarette burned down between my fingers, without me taking another drag. Maybe I didn't need more smokes, but was over with the habit…

“You're not a fuck up.” His voice is heavy, and his gaze on me is even heavier. I have to look away. I rarely feel shame because of my job. Sure, some people think a job like mine is beneath them, that I am beneath them, but that doesn't bother me too much. I always cared more about my life _outside_ of work. It's the choices I made back then, that bother me. To degrade myself as Mac's bully and enabling him with his teenage-workring. 

“Not so sure about that…” I say bitterly, throwing my smoke away.

“You don't control who your manager hires, or doesn't hire”, he says calmly. “You're just doing your job.”

That sounds nice, I'd like to believe that, but I'm not convinced. Maybe if I quit he'd had to stop hiring these young girls and would start to employ actual adults. But he's right to some extent. I have to earn money myself and at least I'm trying to make it bearable for my coworkers. And I really enjoy working with them, even Natalie.

Isn't it funny how I claim to be good at staring when I can barely look at him right now? I focus on his hands in his lap, fumbling with his pipe, until he lefts it aside, scoops a little closer, his leg bumping against mine and then I see his hand reaching out for me, it passes briefly through my sight of view until it disappears to the side of my face and then I feel his long fingers clutch at my nape. My blood stops running. I think it's the first time he's touching me. Like, for real.

I look at him, at last. His eyes always seem so gentle, due to their shape, but he also appears a bit tense. Probably because of the touch. I'd be lying if I said I'm not nervous myself with this new situation. He squeezes my neck lightly. “You make people feel safe”, he says. “Despite your rather brash nature.” I huff a laugh. That's him putting it nicely. He smiles and scratches the short hair at the back of my head, affectionately. “I feel safe with you.”

I'm getting all gloomy because of that statement, which is a bit odd, but equally as endearing. I feel safe with him too. Not even Steph knows more than the gossip which is going around about me and the infamous Snafu. Today he's a whole different person from me. Maybe I'm allowed to leave him behind to focus on doing better in the future.

Eugene's hand is still on my neck and I'm looking at him, smiling fondly, which I don't do that often. I'm tilting my head a little towards him and he reacts by moving his hand up, brushing through my curls, it twings a little, they're tangled after a day, or night, out and about. However, I'm enjoying his touch, very much so, this kind of casual intimacy. I'm closing my eyes, sighing contently. He chuckles as he scratches my scalp. “Now I know why Steph is always ruffling your hair. You're purring like a cat.”

I lazily open my eyes, grinning at him. “You like cats?”

“I can tolerate them”, he says, laughing lightly.

I can only stare at him, relishing in the sound of his laughter. I think it's the first time that I'm close enough to smell his scent without the counter or the stench of grease between us. He smells good. Mostly of coffee with a lot of almond milk and some kind of perfume, the tobacco from his pipe. Faintly, I see freckles on his nose, beginning to bloom now that it gets sunnier. His pale eyelashes throw a shadow over his cheekbones. To me, he is absolutely divine.

“You're beautiful.” 

I can't help myself, I have to tell him, let him know. Something settled in me which I already felt after our first in depth talk, the one about his family. This wasn’t about proving a point anymore. I didn't want him to get in to bed with me just to proof that I could. I mean I'd like to take him to bed. Eventually. But I also want to know him better. Properly. And I want him to know me. 

He casts his eyes down, letting his hand fall from my head. 

“Is all you ever do is teasing?”, he asks with a small voice.

My stomach sinks. I wasn’t teasing, not now. Quite the opposite. I think I never was this sincere with something. Someone. 

“I mean it, _Gene_.” I say and place a hand over his knee, squeezing. I like calling him 'Gene', adds a certain kind of intimacy, but I can also use it to let him know that I'm serious in this matter. 

He looks down on his knee and I almost draw my hand away, thinking it makes him uncomfortable, when he grabs it.

“Kiss me?”

It feels like my mind stops working for a second, this catches me completely off-guard. Weeks of dancing around each other, shooting suggestive stuff his way, not quite knowing if he'd even catch it and he just asks me to kiss him. I inhale sharply, almost a little overwhelmed with the situation. “You're sure?”

When he looks at me, his eyes are incredibly dark, he nods and squeezes my hand. My heart starts beating a little faster as my gaze falls on his lips. The lips I had quite some indecent thoughts about. I wanted this for so long and now I barely know what to do. I'm almost afraid I'll fuck it up. Bumping foreheads or whatever. It doesn't have to be perfect but I want it to be as beautiful as the boy who's sitting in front of me. I gather up the courage to reach out to cup his cheek. His eyes flutter shut as soon as I'm touching him. His skin is smooth, he's clean shaven today. I dare to stroke my thumb over his lips and let it rest on his cupid's bow. I'm afraid he might find it weird, before I feel his lips perking against my thumb. He brushes a kiss against it.

“Gene…” I gulp.

“Kiss me!”, he breathes, frowning a little, urging me.

And so I do. I shut my eyes and lean in close, feeling his nose nudge against my cheek, before our lips find each other. My heart skips a beat, as if I'm the one with the murmur. His lips are softly pressed against mine, light like the wings of a butterfly. Feeling him so close is an entirely new experience, not only his lips, but his whole body emits some kind of pleasant warmth in which I could drowse in, lose myself. I grab his nape, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss. He hums, hand squeezing mine, until he inclines his head, before I can even attempt to get past them. I'm looking a little wistful at his mouth, as he's leaning back and my hand starts to slide off his nape. He notices that, a quick smile tucking on his lips, he leans forward once more, pecking me a second kiss with a little smack. As light and sweet as the first one.

I can’t help but letting out a soft chuckle, stroking the skin behind his ear. Don't know the last time a chaste kiss like that had made me feel this giddy. This was certainly more than our usual banter, but still less than making out for real and I’m a little rusty at this part of being with someone. I look at him a little absentmindedly, when I notice that he’s smirking.

“Are you telling me your real name, now?”, he cocks a brow. 

Oh shit! I still haven't told him. It'd be weird if he kept calling me Snafu and I don't want him to. I'd really like to hear him pronounce my name. I let go off his face, holding his gaze.   
“It's Merriell.”

“Merriell”, he repeats, fulfilling my secret wish to hear it in the tone of his voice. “Sounds nice. Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

I’m tensing a little. I didn't tell him, because I thought this was going to be nothing more than a flirt. I wanted to show the girls how to do it properly, since he never caught up on their flirting. We would have spent a night together. Preferably soon after our first real encounter and then he'd stop attending us, because it's always awkward to see your one-night-stand again and it'd be over. “Felt like too big of a commitment.”

He's frowning slightly. “Exchanging names felt like too big of a commitment?”

“I thought we were just having fun, you know? A little fling or something.” 

After finding out he was writing porn, I just thought the sex would be far more exciting than I anticipated, but then I got to know him better, by listening to him, but also reading his stories and the whole sex thing was pushed to the side. I want to tell him about all that, when the door next to us slams open, making us both jump.

“THERE YOU FUCKING ARE!” 

I swirl around to see Natalie who’s fuming, standing under the door frame. I’m screwing my eyes shut. Shit. How long have we been out here? 

“You think you can seduce your crush out here while we’re working our asses off?! Get inside, right fucking now!”, she screams.

I glare up at her. I do her and me a favor and ignore that one comment about ‘my crush’, or we would indulge into a full blown argument and I don’t want that in front of Eugene. 

“I’m sorry, I’m coming. Just a minute.” 

I have to finish my talk with Eugene, who flinched away, basically sitting on the other end of the sofa now, cheeks burning, leaving things clear between us.

“No! You come back inside with me, NOW!”, she doesn’t retreat, her hand still on the doorhandle, her fiery gaze burning down on me.

I groan, but stand up so she doesn’t feel the need to keep screaming. “You know I’m basically your supervisor, right?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Snaf!”, she hisses. “You’re scheduled, so you’re working, goddammit!”

I grumble something which she luckily doesn’t catch and turn to Eugene, who’s still sitting on the couch, touching his arm lightly, “You’re coming back inside?”

He looks past me, where Natalie stands, tapping her foot. “No, I think now is not a good time”, he answers, voice small.

I’m biting down on my lip, he’s probably right, but we left off at a weird point with our conversation. I worry he understood things the wrong way. I’m somehow scared to just leave him here.

“See ya around?” I ask, almost a little anxious.

“Sure!”, he says, looking up at me, smiling even. 

I let out a sigh, relieved with his answer. Behind me Natalie clears her throat, noisily. I roll my eyes and squeeze his shoulder.

“Bye”, I say with a lopsided smile.

“Go”, he mumbles, patting my leg. 

I can’t resists, I’m tapping his chin with my finger, he lets out a huff and before Natalie skins me alive I turn around to her and hurry back inside the store, stomach clutching tightly with the pleasure of knowing that we got close to each other, but also with a little bit of regret in the light of unspoken words.

***

“I fucked up.”

“Shocking!” Steph deadpans. 

We're sitting outside on the sofa. Where I sat with Eugene a few days ago. He's avoiding me. The girls told me that he still comes in during the day, just not when I'm working. They say he's as friendly as ever, but I'm still concerned. I had to leave before I could explain myself and now I’m fearing I might never get the chance to do so. I can’t reach him. I don’t have his phone number, I don’t have his address. Our encounters depend on him showing up to this place. 

“I fucked it up with Eugene… I think.”

That earns me her attention and even the joint back, I rolled for us to calm my nerves a little. I wasn't going to see him today. Tonight. Whatever. Usually he arrived here at 1 in the morning, if he had work to do and it was already 3 am. I even finished my shift, since I came in "early" today, speaking like 9 pm. I was just spending Steph's break with her before heading home. I hoped the weed would help me sleep that night, otherwise I would lay awake and think about Eugene like I did every night since the kiss and his sudden absence after that. Overthinking what I said, what he said, what I did and didn't do. Trying to figure out, how to fix it.

“What's wrong with Sledgehammer?” she asks. “He actually isn't into the kinky stuff he writes about?”

I take a drag, blowing the smoke at her face in annoyance, “It's not about sex…”

“You still didn't get any!?”, she's waving the smoke off her face. “Jesus, you like that boy!” Her devilish grin is back on her lips, which I don’t like so much if it is directed at me. 

I hand her the joint back, maybe she gets less insufferable, when she’s high. She knows me too well by now, picked up on me taking longer shifts so I would still be in when he got his morning coffee, picked up on me storing enough almond milk in the freezer, picked up on me taking my time and talking to him. She probably figured that this was a bit much effort for a potential one night stand.

“We kissed”, I say with a low voice.

She's squeals, slapping my arm excitedly, “Finally!”, she exclaims. 

I can't help the smile which is tucking on my lips because of the memory. It was just a quick little G-rated smooch and it still made me quite happy, feeling all light inside. But with the fond memory comes the realization that I fucked it up and I'm getting gloomy again.

Stephs smile withers from her face, sensing the shift of the mood. “What’s wrong then?”, she asks. “Or is your technique that bad?” I mock laugh at the last part. I cherish her as a friend, but we're a little too similar sometimes. It's unusual for us to have a serious conversation. Normally all we do is bitch about customers. Both of us not great with feelings, constantly masking them with a witty remark. 

I let out a long sigh. “Kinda told him that I thought we’d be nothing more than a fling...”

“Oh my God!” She throws her head back in aggravation, punching me against my shoulder, aimed to be painful this time. “Why did you do that?!”

“Ouch!” I rub the spot where she hit me. It truly hurts. “I didn’t do it on purpose! Natalie interrupted us before I could explain myself and then he left and didn’t come back.”

“And you just let him?!”

“What was I supposed to do?”, I ask a little heated. “We only ever met at this shitty place, if he doesn’t come back, I’ll never see him again. I’ll never get to tell him-” I bite my tongue. She doesn’t have to know about the core of my feelings for him. She probably gathered enough already.

“Hey”, she scoops a bit closer sensing that I'm spiraling. “You two just need to talk to each other. Not just funny flirting, okay? Realtalk! He's just confused”, she says with a little grin. ”Like I was when I hit on Sledgehammer.”

A weak smile returns to my face, thinking back to when all this started, mostly because he didn't want her number and I wanted to see if he'd want mine, well, if I actually had a stupid cell phone, so I could fucking reach him. She’s certainly right with the realtalk part, though. The flirting and the constant suspense was fun for a while, but now I just wanted to state things between us. Maybe even establishing something more sincere if he was down for it. Maybe she’s more mature than I gave her credit for. 

It's nice to be able to talk to her like this, but I still enjoy to tease her, so I say: “Kinda embarrassing”, to her last comment about her hitting on him. 

She lets out a huff. “Says the guy who has a big fat crush on the same kid who writes porn at a coffeeshop.”

“We're a burger grill.” 

Used to, but still. We laugh silently as I'm putting out the joint, we only finished a quarter. I know I won't get any sleep tonight. Now I will absolutely overthink the situation, trying to come up with a way to apologize to him, putting things properly. I have to, I owe him, he finally responded to all the dumb flirting I had practiced the past weeks and I managed to ruin it by blurting out this absolutely unnecessary thing about the fling, instead of being honest about my current feelings, but there is one big problem: 

“What if he doesn’t come back, though?” 

Steph opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, the door next to us cracks suddenly open, probably one of the girls who needs her back in the store. I’m straightening up. Not all of them have to know that I’m sulking over that boy. I have a reputation to lose, after all.

I should install a lock or something. I turn to frown at whoever that is who’s disturbing our little therapy session, but instead my eyes turn wide at the sight of who’s interrupting us, brain acting slow not just because of the weed but because I'm truly baffled, “Eugene?”

“Hey”, he says. “The girl at the counter told me I might catch you here.” He looks a little sheepish as he slips past the door, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, I ask irritated, looking over to Steph, who appears just as surprised. First he's avoiding me altogether and now he comes back here in the middle of the night, to an complete unusual hour? 

“Couldn’t sleep. Or work”, he ducks his head a little. “But I can leave if it's… inconvenient?”

“No!”, Steph rushes to say. “Come sit with us”, she slaps the cushion between her and me and scoops over to the armrest. I glare at her, I’m not sure if I’m ready for this, I thought I get a bit of time to consider all of the stuff we just unpacked, before I would try to meet and talk to him. But now he's here, making an effort, so I guess I have no other choice but talk to him.

He hesitates but he can't really say no without leaving all together, can he? He can't just keep on standing there. He releases his hands from his pockets, patting his sides and slowly shuffles into the space between us. He turns around and lets himself fall down on the sofa. No one says a word, he looks at each of us, nodding slightly, until I snort loudly. 

“This is fucking awkward…”

Steph's giggling “Who is third-wheeling who?”, she asks and starts full on laughing after I start too, seeing Eugene rubbing his thighs, still kinda awkward.

“Am I missing something?”, he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“A usual, Sledgehammer”, she answers and ruffles his hair. He's part of the family, now. He tilts his head away with a huff, his own hands combing through it, as if it's not tussled all the time, anyway. I look at his hair, remembering how he had touched mine, I hope we can get back to this intimacy. 

“We just smoked a little…”, she attempts to explain our laughter and points to my hand which is holding the joint.

“Huh, fun” he mumbles as his eyes fall on the joint. “Never got around to try that stuff.”

“Really?”, Steph sneers. “Shouldn't you have a certain amount of experience as a writer?”, she pokes his sides, making him squirm.

He leans away, his shoulder brushing mine. “Tells you I'm a damn good writer”, he huffs. “As long as you can imagine it convincingly enough, it doesn't matter if you've actually done it.”

I snort a laugh. Not because I don't believe him. He probably has enough creativity in him for several people, but in reference to his adult stories, the thought is quite funny. “You're not still a virgin though, are you, Gene? Would be inconvenient considering your profession.”

Steph laughs and I grin, falling back to the banter as if we never stopped, as if I didn’t worry to never see him again five minutes ago. I’m not really expecting a comeback either, other than a huff and maybe a slap against my arm, but I’m wrong about that. 

“Why?” he asks and when I look at him his eyes are gleaming. “You’d like to change that, if it’d be the case?” 

I swallow thickly. I should be used to get stunned by him by now. He almost never acts like I expect him to. He’s either far more coy or daring than I would guess he’d be in the moment. A walking surprise, always something new surfacing that I’d never expect about him, never expected such heat behind his gentle eyes either. We stare at each other for a few long stretched seconds.

“Damn get a room you two”, Steph mutters. I almost forgot that she’s there, I’m barely able to break the eye-contact with Eugene to smirk at her rather weakly. 

In this moment in which Steph proves herself to be the better person between us two, because she gets up from the sofa, about to head back inside, whereas if it had been me who stood between her and a guy I would have stayed, just to ruin their mood. 

“Alright boys, I think my break is over”, she says, fixing her uniform.

Eugene turns his head down, maybe a little shy again. A smile tucks on my lips as Steph ruffles his hair again, and of course mine as she walks to the door.

“Good night”, she says. 

“Night”, we answer in unisono. 

“Have fun”, she adds with a wink.

With the clicking of the lock, silence sets around us. The silence of a big city at least, cars in the streets and occasional sirens, which I don’t even really notice anymore. But I notice the popping of Eugene’s fingers, as he pulls them. Perhaps he’s a bit nervous. I’m nervous too. We still have to talk. We can’t just continue like nothing happened. But I hate that noise and even more the sensation coming with it, by just seeing other people doing it, so I reach out and grab one of his hands, stopping him from cracking his joints. He glances at me sidelong. 

“Eugene” I start and already feel lost, but pushing through with it. “I'm sorry. About last time. We got interrupted before I could explain myself.”

“No need”, he says and lets out a long sigh and for a second I'm afraid that he's calling it a night. He’d recline his hand, getting up and leave, just that he wouldn’t return this time and it’d be over. But he stays. “I got what you tried to say.”

I look at him, a little doubting. “Yeah?” I study his face, it didn’t reveal much. He just looks tired, dark shadows under his eyes, but that’s pretty much how he always looks, both of us actually.

He nudges his shoulder against mine. “Well, you did flirt with me...” 

I scoff, feeling his body heat makes me almost a little dizzy. “You finally noticed?”

“Hard to miss with all your teasing”, he smirks faintly. Well, I didn’t try to be subtle. Feeding someone in public wasn’t something you’d do with your platonic friends, right?   
“And you kissed me.”

I look at him properly, his face is open, he’s holding my gaze. “That I did”, I reply quietly.

“There’s nothing to explain, then”, he squeezes my hand, which he still holds, since I took it to stop the joint cracking, like he did back when we kissed. There’s nothing about him that tells me, that he doesn’t mean what he just said. He honestly seemed to get what I tried to say back then and it doesn’t really surprise me, he’s sensitive like that, like when he tried to reassure me, that I wasn’t a fuck up, which he kind of accomplished. He soothes me somehow, the atmosphere around us is pleasantly calm most of the time. I wish we would have done this sooner, maybe I should have told him about my change of intentions as soon as I fed him those bagels, when I felt this wash of affection for the first time. 

“Where have you been the last couple of days?”, I ask, because I missed him.

He sighs and lets go of my hand, to rub his face, “Had deadlines to meet”, his voice comes muffled through his fingers. “Lots of stress recently.” 

He looks like it, I hope our little issue didn’t make it worse. I reach around him to rub his shoulder, compassionately and am glad that he lets me, he even smiles at me before his eyes fall down to our laps. It looks like he’s thinking about something , before he asks:

“Can I try it?” 

I follow his gaze and he motions to my hand which still holds the joint. I frown slightly. 

“Weed is supposed to relax you, right?”, he adds with a crooked smile.

We should probably get our sleeping issues fixed instead of indulging in some bullshit like this, but it’s a pretty weak joint. It was supposed to calm me down myself, I bet it wouldn't even affect him that much.

“Come on, show me how to do it”, he says, voice kinda alluring.

I raise my eyebrows at him. It seemed like he had stepped up his flirting game, since we last saw each other. Perhaps because he knows now, that we like each other. Whatever the reason I can’t say that it bothers me. 

“You want me to show you?”

“Just take the first drag”, he says and shoves lightly at me. Shoulder against shoulder. 

I get my lighter back out of my pocket and lighten the joint to take the first drag.   
I feel his eyes on me, his own mouth slightly gaping as I close my lips around the end of the joint. I have to hold my smile in, it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who stares from time to time. 

I inhale effortlessly and blow out a smoke-ring, just because I can.

“Impressive!”, Eugene hums. “How much practice did you have, though?” 

“Some of us actually lived a little during their teenage years, Gene.”

I smirk and hand him the joint, fingers brushing. Seeing him suck on that thing is quite nice too, the cherry flares up, enlightening a spark in his eyes. The exhale part is not so sexy, though. He hunches over with a dry heave, heavily coughing.

I roll my eyes. He should be used to it, as a smoker. Nonetheless I pat his back, knowing that it won’t help. He sits back up, struggling for air. 

“It’s different with a pipe”, he chokes out between coughs, eyes running.

“Jesus”, I start chuckling. “I can't believe you never tried weed, but smoke that awful pipe just fine...”

He looks over to me his eyes are still a little moist, but he starts to smile as well. “Hell yeah I do”, some more coughing, “And I feel pretty damn good about it!”

“You feel good about ruining your health?”

He shrugs and raises the joint to his lips once more, “We're all dying anyway.”

“Okay, Nietzsche.” I snatch the joint from his hand before he can take another drag. 

Maybe the couple of drags I had before are finally affecting me, or it's just placebo, but I turn to him properly, crossing my legs under me. He turns as well. This is all pretty similar to the last time we sat on this couch, mayhaps we’re granted another chance at something as intimate as the kiss we shared. 

“Close your eyes, open your mouth” I say and it comes out far more suggestive than anticipated.

“Not that again…”, he huffs a laugh. “What are you going to do?”

“Teach you” I say and blow out another ring, next to his head.

“By blowing that into my mouth?” he asks, shuffling on his spot a little. “That's pretty yucky…”

“Why?” I let my hand sink down, smiling at him, all teeth. “We're not sharing spit.”  
  
He pulls a face as I laugh. It’s not like we're strangers or anything like that anymore. We already kissed, my thoughts went far beyond that and by this one explicit story I got to read, his mind is capable of thinking about stuff that is far more adventurous than blowing a little smoke into someone's mouth as well. It sounds almost prudish in comparison.

“Okay”, he suddenly says, his voice low. “Let's try.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat, it might be quite ridiculous, something teenagers would do, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not turned on by it. 

“Alright” I say, voice heavy with suspense. I scoop even closer, my crossed legs basically on top of his which he halfway sits on. “I'll open and close your mouth, telling you when to inhale, okay?”

He nods. His pupils are blown wide, eyes incredibly dark. This is more exciting than every fantasy I could have ever had. I could have never imagined the look of want in his eyes, so perfectly. His head is a little tilted almost as if we're about to kiss again. His shirt revealing the crook of his neck. I want to bury my face there, sinking my nose into the mold which probably smells even more like himself. I want to know what his skin tastes like. What his moans sound like. Wanna smell his musky scent when he's aroused. 

I reach out to gently grab around his chin. Fingers on one side of his face, thumb on the other. 

“Okay?”, I ask once more. 

“Yes”, he breaths. 

I lick my lips, a shiver creeps over my back at the thought of what he lets me do. What other things that could possibly include. 

“Close your eyes”, I whisper and his eyelids flutter shut. I start to slowly pull his mouth open, looking for any sign on his face that would tell me that he's uncomfortable. But there is no crease between his brows and he follows the pull of my hand willingly until I stop. 

I take a drag, holding it in for a second to look at him again. He trusts me completely, with his eyes closed and mouth opened. Thinking that this trust could be the beginning of something bigger, something serious, makes my mind spin, as if I’m not a little high but full on drunk… Before I can get sappy and he starts to wonder what takes me so long, I lean in close and let the stream of smoke out through pursed lips, blowing it into his mouth. Not too fast and not too much so he doesn't start coughing again. Then I lean back and push his mouth shut.

“Inhale” it's not more than a whisper, but he already does.

I don’t move my hand from his face yet. I'm simply not able to. After a few seconds I feel the smoke stroke my hand as he lets it out through his nostrils. 

“Better?” I ask low-voiced and move my thumb to his chin, so he can answer me properly.

He opens his eyes, slowly like he's a femme fatale from the 1940's. “Better”, he says and smirks. “How long till I feel something?”

“Takes a little while…”

*

It's weird that no one comes out here. I know one of the girls who's working tonight smokes too. But maybe it's not, because I bet Steph shields that door like her life depends on it. Giving us all the time we need.

The weed started to affect Eugene some time ago. He sits slacked down on the sofa, smiling a little dumbly, like people do when they're high. His accent’s coming out strong now that he's so relaxed, or maybe it's because he's talking about home.   
He told me the story of his pipe.

“Sid and I” that was his best friend back from Mobile “tried to be a little different, you know? Not much two very mediocre boys can do in a small town” they still were friends, but Sid was a doctor in Mobile and Eugene didn't went there in years “So we thought it'd be super cool and super mature if we started smoking. He started smoking cigars and I started smoking that pipe. Stupid I know. Mary” Sid's crush since his childhood and now his wife “was disgusted by it so he dropped it, but it was the reason she noticed him” he chuckled “so maybe it did work after all.”

“Did it work for you too?”, I ask with a smirk

“Did what work?”

“Did you get some?”

“Some what?”

“Jesus, Gene. Sex. Did smoking get you someone to fuck like it did for Sid.”

“Oh. No.” He answers and pulls on a lose threat that is hanging from the couch. “No one was out back at my school.”

Sometimes he was for sure slow catching those kind of innuendos. The joke about his experience in this kind of area was just that, a joke. But in moments like these I began to wonder. He did have at least one boyfriend, though and I’m sure there were other men the years after. He’s probably just too decent to notice those kinda things.

“And I hid the pipe during college.” He looks at me, grinning. “Because the reaction was far more similar to yours”, he pinches my side and I laugh.

“It is kinda weird. Pretentious”, I say.

“Yeah... That describes me and Sid as teenagers pretty well.” He scratches his head, maybe a little embarrassed himself. “I got him a poetry book for his 18th birthday… Imagine that.”

“Jesus Christ!” I don’t know what that Sid is like but I imagine him a little posh, rich of course, they grew up in the same social framework. Maybe Eugene’s posh side comes out stronger when they’re together, sipping their wine, talking about poetry and other intellectual bullshit. He’s a doctor, right? He has to be smart. Probably wears beige slacks, ironed shirts, hair neatly combed. I bet I look better than him, I’m probably more interesting too. “Did he like the book at least?”

To my surprise Eugene barks out a laugh at that. “He gave it away, that bastard! I found it at a garage sale, had my inscription in it and everything.”

“That is kinda rude”, I smirk. Perhaps that Sid guy was a little less well behaved than I thought. “You know, I wouldn't treat your gifts like that.”

He had slid down the couch a stretch, head resting on my shoulder now, which is quite nice. I raise my hand to stroke his hair. I have a thing for redheads, always did. His hair is a pretty dark shade of red but it's even nicer when it catches the sunlight in the right way, lighting it up in flames. The dim street lights above only manage to make a few strands gleam ginger. It's weird, casual intimacy comes rather easy to me, once I like someone, but with him every touch feels so meaningful.

He looks up a bit. “You wouldn't?”, he asks and a smile plays around his lips. The lips which were so close to mine again a few minutes ago. 

“No” I drawl, looking down on him. “Especially not if you'd gifted me one of your stories.”

He lets his head sink again, I feel one of his hands rest on my stomach which is clutching slightly at the sensation. That is certainly the most intimate we’ve ever been. I only hope it’s not just because of the weed. 

“You asked me to write you one…”, he mutters.

I huff a little nervous, “Yeah.” I remember asking him, tried to tickle something spicy out of him, while he suggested I could be a pirate and Natalie brought up the ‘Snafu’ stuff before I could tell him what I actually had in mind. That girl surely had a talent to ruin situations between us. “Wanted to tease ya, as usual”, I say as I comb through his hair.

He's sitting up a little, and I let my hand sink on the backrest. “I could make up something for you now”, he says. “From sketch.” 

I'm resting my temple against my knuckles, elbow propped on the backrest. “You could?”, I grin, tilting my head so I can look him directly in the eye. 

What could that be? A cute little something? The story of another shared kiss maybe? I sometimes imagine us back in Louisiana the heat has to be quite suffocating there already, not much different from Alabama, I suppose. I picture us sitting on my parents porch, feet hanging into the bayou to get a little cooling. His skin would be damp with sweat, hair clinging to his moist forehead. I'd kiss him on his shoulder, his neck tasting the salt of his body.   
  
He shies away from my gaze. “I don't know if you’ll like it, though”, he laughs, throwing a hand over his face seemingly a little embarrassed. That would for sure not be a problem. He could get me off with the description of a kiss at this point. I reach out to caress the arm he hides his face with. 

“Start with something you like”, I suggest.

He moves the hand from his face. “That's a bit personal, isn't it?” he asks a little skeptical.

I shrug. “I mean I wouldn't know if it's made up or not. Since you're that good of a storyteller”, I wink at him. 

He answers me with a lazy smirk and after a small pause he says: “I like kissing quite a lot.” 

“Yeah?”, I grin. Figured that much, by now.

“M-hm”, he continues, missing or ignoring my slight sarcasm. “A kiss on the mouth, a kiss on the neck, a little nibble on the earlobe. I like the foreplay”, his voice sounds sleepy. “I like being touched. Hands creeping under shirts, fingertips ghosting over skin, goosebumps.”

He slacks against the backrest with his side, head resting there, instead of against my shoulder, so I look down on him with a distance. He closes his eyes as if to picture the scene better he tries to paint for me. I smile at him, endearingly.

“Coming home to a dark apartment, together. You two can barely contain yourselves. Started kissing on the staircase. Now you're inside, you slip the lights on and stumble into the bedroom. You're clawing at each other, trying to rip your clothes off.”

He pulls a little on his own shirt and my thoughts dart back to that one time when I thought about how it would be to watch him touch himself. It has been quite an intrusive thought which came back to me now, seeing him on this couch, talking with a low voice about clothes and pulling on his own. I’m surprised that he takes so much time to set the mood.

“You take your shirts off, but before you continue you take a step back, admiring each other. The moonlight falls through the window, dancing over your smooth, tanned skin. You take a moment to look at each other's eyes. You have beautiful eyes, big with an indefinable color. Seagreen maybe. A hand comes up to your hair, brushing through your curls. It's sweet but you want more, so you kiss the other person, deeply. Drawing some moans from them. You're pretty lips, full against the one of your lover's. You'd bite a little at their lips, heating it up. Your broad hands would glide along the other person's body. Grabbing at everything they can. Your mouth keeps wandering. Kissing down the neck, sucking there, claiming them. Moving further down, teeth scratching nipples, moans escaping from open mouths. You both feel you're ready-

You want to be on top?”

I get ripped out of my imagination. My eyes are fixed on him, staring at him as he speaks. Aspiration growing as I notice the description sounds oddly familiar. “Huh?”

“You wanna be top or bottom?” he asks.

I'm almost a little dazed but manage an answer: “I- I don't mind.” 

His eyes are still closed, he almost looks asleep. “Fine, you're topping then.”

My blood stops running for a second. I stare down at him but he doesn't show any kind of reaction. Is it really true? Is this story about us? Are we going to fuck in this fantasy?

“You push me onto the bed and unbuckle your belt”, he continues and I realize we will fuck in this fantasy. “I grab a hold of you as soon as you spring out of your boxers and drop to my knees. I'm tasting you, but I'm just teasing you at this point. You taste like you smell, like smoke and a little sweat and your cologne. God you taste fantastic. You'd tell me to open my mouth, like you did before, but this time it's a bit more spicy. I start sucking you off, encouraging you to pull my hair, fuck into my mouth. You'd say I should look up at you and I would. Your cock would be slick with my spit and the first drips of your own cum, perfectly ready for my hole. You’d move me to the bed to kiss me some more. Tasting yourself on my lips. 

Do you like that?”

He touches his own lips for a second, with his delicate fingers. I swallow hard at that, my throat is extremely dry as I breath through my mouth. It feels like there's not enough air in my brain, I'm getting dizzy. He doesn’t wait for an answer but continues:

“My cock is hard and dripping as well and maybe you'd give it a few strokes before you'd tell me to get on my knees. I'd do as you say, getting up on all four. You'd caress my back, kissing my nape, reaching under me to give me a few more strokes. Then you position yourself behind me, spreading my legs further open until it's almost painful. You duck your head and start prepping me with your tongue. Soft, hot velvet against my insides. I'd probably cry out and collapse on my forearms, cause the feeling it just too sublime. You spread my cheeks, licking me open. I bet you're a biter! So you'd probably leave some more marks on me. You add one finger after another. I groan and tell you how fucking good that feels. You fuck me with your fingers. Hard. And if you'd feel a little cruel you would stop moving and tell me to fuck myself on your fingers. So I'd have to rock my hips back, whimpering, trying to get the pleasure you're denying me. I'd be a trembling mess before you even got to shove your dick inside m-” 

“Eugene!”, I gasp out.

His eyes flutter open. I look at him, panting through open lips. Can he see the effect he has on me? How blown my pupils probably are? Does he know it isn't from the weed alone? His cheeks are slightly pink, his mouth hangs open as well, he has looped his arm around himself as he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?” I breath out, amazed at myself, that I even have the mental capacity to ask this kind of question.

He nods eagerly, sitting up again. I don’t lose another second, I grab his chin, like before, pulling him forwards. He goes willingly, hands clutching on my t-shirt, as he pulls on me as well, closing the gap between us. As soon as I feel his soft lips on mine, his tongue nudges against my lips. I'm a little surprised, but part them for him and his tongue slips inside my mouth, colliding with my own. I angle his head to deepen the kiss, exploring this wet heat he's offering me. Eugene lets out a moan, caressing my chest which sends a tuck right under my navel. God I'm getting fucking hungry... 

My hand cradles his nape, the other one moving to his hip, getting a little more handsy. I slowly push under his shirt, when I make contact with the soft skin of his hip, squeezing him a bit, a shudder shakes his whole body so that he almost breaks the kiss. Before I can check if he's okay, his hands are coming up to clutch at my hair, his tongue is back in my mouth, fiercely digging. And so I just hum, running my hand down the side of his body, before moving to his front, feeling the little bit of chub he has on his belly, the hair which leads to his crotch. Before my hand can wander some more, he grabs it, placing it on his ass instead. I chuckle silently against his mouth, he's pressing my hand against himself and I react by parting from him for a second. 

He lets out a little whine, chasing my lips, which makes me almost blind with want. Knowing that he wants this, that he wants more. I grab his hips with both hands, pulling him into my lap. I want to feel him on top of me. He lets out a surprised sound but follows. As he settles I feel him hard against me and I know he can feel me two. I look up at him, he's panting, lips a darker shade of red from kissing. He's so goddamn beautiful, even like this, especially like this! Slightly out of it, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. I could just sit here, staring up at him, like he's some kind of Saint I'm praying to, but he ducks his head and kisses me again, he's in charge of the angle now, his hands are back in my hair, pulling. It hurts but in a good way. 

My hands disappear under his shirt again and he really do likes to be touched, cause it doesn't take much more than caressing his back, digging my nails a little into his flesh for him to moan louder and starting to rock against me. He leaves my mouth, to catch his breath, his heavy panting sounding like a sweet melody in my ears. 

The only thing my mouth can reach now, is his pale neck and I think about what he said about claiming him. What I fantasized about. It's a huge turn-on to know that we're sharing some fantasies, like marking the other up. I start kissing him there, hot and wet, let my teeth graze his delicate skin. It turns red immediately. He keeps rocking against me, the movement of his hips is mesmerizing. I almost want to lean back and watch him, even better if we hadn't our clothes still on. I'd like to see his dick bounce between us, watching my cock disappear inside him, slick with cum and spit, just like he said. 

“Go on”, Eugene pants over me. I look up at him. His hair is even more tousled than usual, makes him look quite young. His lips are wet and open, gasping for air, eyes squeezed shut. I can see the satisfaction ghost over his face whenever he rubs his dick at the right spot against me. “Leave me something proper to remind me of you”, he breathes out and tilts his head, bares his neck for me.

I let out a grunt and pull him close to my mouth, so that I can suck at his skin, bite, and sooth him afterwards with my tongue. I can see the large red mark bloom on his skin right on the crook of his neck. His movements getting more jerky, he's panting heavily.

“God, Merriell”, he whines into my hair. 

I have to bite down on my lip, hard, or I'd come right then and there with my name on his lips. Who would have thought rubbing against each other like teenagers on a raggedy ass couch outside a burger grill could be this fucking hot. It's not too late, we can still get a little more intimate. 

I move my hands from his hips, where I kept them at last to guide his moves, pressing him down on me even harder, to the front of his jeans, attempting to open them when his hand clutches around my wrist. 

“Wait”, he huffs, voice raspy from panting. 

“Sorry, I thought-”, I'm stammering. I thought we were doing it…? Or was he into clothed sex? Would be fine with me too… He stopped moving, still holding my wrist, my other hand resting on his thigh. I look up at him, his jaw is tensed. “What’s wrong?”, I ask.

“Can we-”, he stops himself for a second, voice strangely choked. “Can we stop it here?”

My mind is still a little clouded by the weed and the arousal, so I need a moment to react, his eyes are on me, searching my face, starting to look worried at my lack of an answer and I rush to say: “Of course!”, blurting it out. “Of course we can!”

“Yeah?”, he squeezes my wrist. “Even if you’re just looking for some fun?”, 

He’s barely audible, I have to lean in close to even catch it and when his words dawn on me my heart sinks right into my stomach. He’s still thinking about my stupid remark about the fling. He thinks that is still what I want. What I exclusively want. I lean back, groaning, hand clutching at my forehead. I’m so fucking stupid. We should have talked about this. I should have told him, that he's what I'm looking for, not a stupid fling on a couch. I shouldn’t have just assumed that he magically read my mind. 

My jeans are still unpleasantly tight on me and him straddling my lap isn’t exactly helpful, I grab his hips and push him slowly off me, he follows and sits back on the cushions, looking a little upset. I feel guilty for pushing him away, after he offered me so much and because we didn’t talk properly about all this. 

““I’m sorry”, I start lamely, searching for the right words and failing miserably. Teasing most certainly is easier than this stuff. “I should have stated things properly between us.”

“Stating, that we're nothing more than a fling?”, his mouth is pulled downwards, he looks sad and hurt. 

“No, no that's not what I meant!” I rush to say and reach out for his hand, squeezing it, trying to put emphasize on my words. I already wanted to tell him last time, that my feelings had changed, I just fucked it up. I haven't confessed my feelings to someone in a very long time. And no one can convince me, that this stuff isn’t scary. 

He looks at me, his eyes have softened a little, he waits for me to explain myself, always so patient and understanding. A new wave of affection rolls over me and all of a sudden it’s easy to ask: “You still like me, Gene?”

He casts his eyes down. 

“Who said I ever liked you?” 

But before any doubt can flare up inside me, he leans in and bumps his forehead gently against mine. A small smile breaks over my face. The banter will never end with him, I'm certain of that, at least. 

“I like you Eugene”, I whisper, swallowing down my worries. This is okay, I can tell him, I have to tell him. He deserves to know and I want him to, want to take away his worries as well. I'm kind of glad that he's so close, that I can't even see him properly, makes the following easier, somehow: 

“You want to give us a chance?” I dare to ask him. Finally, like I should have done days ago, maybe even weeks. “Not on a one night stand, but something… serious?” 

He's silent for a few seconds, the only thing I can focus on is the fast pace of my heart and the loud thudding in my ears. Maybe I should get it tested, at the end of the day we both have a condition.

“I'd like that”, he says quietly, inclining his head so he can smile at me. I smile back at him, fondly, no sneering, no bearing teeth, a genuine smile, relieved and really happy with his answer. 

This night took a weird turn. From me thinking I’d never see him again, to smoking pot to dirty talk to petting or whatever, to this. This was most certainly my favorite part. I never want to let him go again before talking to him properly, he’s too important for me to ruin this.

I feel his eyes on me, he looks content too, no worried crease between his eyebrows. A few strands of his hair standing up from his head in awkward angles, making my smile yet again. 

“Can I kiss you?”, I ask softly. 

I now I asked him before, but I will continue to do so, whenever I feel like it will tell him more about my feelings, than I could ever put into words. 

He nods and so I'm cupping his face with both hands, tilting his head downwards a bit, to breath a kiss on the crown of his head, his beautiful red hair.

He huffs, as he's looking back up again, a smile ghosting over his lips. “That was pretty sweet…”, he mumbles.

“I can be sweet, too”, I answer with a soft chuckle.

***

Pride was right around the corner. During the day there were people outside who were decorating the streets, putting up billboards, spanning flags in all the various forms from streetlight to streetlight, plastering store fronts, if they were allowed to do so. Of course I gave them permission to put a few posters and banners on our windows as well. I didn't need customers who were 'offended' by this. And since Mac was the one who wanted to make money off of this in the first place, I didn’t care about his opinion either. That fucker didn't come in here for any other reason than checking the finances so he can shut his mouth and focus on that. 

Right now I'm having dinner with Eugene during my break. Or not. Because he refuses to eat any of that “greasy stuff”. I didn't get to eat at home so I have no other choice. But we’re at least sitting at a table together, he’s writing on his laptop. It still baffles me sometimes, that he just sits there, writing about sucking and pounding, pulsating and shivering. Considering the level of intensity and the audience. He told me before, that he can simply concentrate better, when he's out of his home and our place is the most 'quiet' one out of the stores which are open 24 hours. Perfect for his nightly writing-spurts. 

His slender fingers sneak over the table towards the little carton box I'm eating out of. I slap his hand away. “You said you didn't want any.”

He's shaking his hand out, overacting. “Sorry for assuming you might share with me…”, he's pouting.

“You're not my girlfriend”, I sneer, fishing one of the curly fries out of my box. Is it a psychological fact that their shape makes them taste better than regular fries?

“Shocking, as I am not a girl”, he glares at me over his laptop. 

We didn't give our relationship a proper name yet, so if I had said boyfriend I bet he would have either blushed like crazy, or worse, run away. This thing between us went on for a few weeks now and I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t enjoy it greatly, if my life depended on it. It felt really nice to have him here, when I worked. He made every shift somewhat special, telling me about new ideas for his stories, discussing the comments with me, I scribbled into his drafts he gave me. Pecking me those sweet kisses whenever he came in and if I got lucky he kissed me a little deeper during my breaks.  
Driving my coworkers just slightly mad. 

But it went never further than that. He seemed pretty eager that one night, before we broke things up. I’m still glad that we didn’t have sex that night on the couch, not before we solved the one night stand issue, but I started to wonder why we never picked up where we broke off. I could certainly try to get him in the mood: 

“You'll get one, if I can feed you”, I say with a low drawl. 

He rolls his eyes. “I thought the teasing would stop after our little confession talk.”

I grin at him, enjoying the banter as always. Even more so, since neither of us hides behind gestures and unspoken shit. I will never stop with the teasing, though. After all it's what brought us together in the first place. I nudge the box closer to him. “Help yourself.”

He smiles sweetly at me, his long mouth stretching all over his pretty face. “I wanted to ask you something”, he says and goes for a curly fry himself. You give them an inch...   
“I thought we could go to Pride together”, he says still chewing. “Never been to one.”

My interest perks up at that. I'd have to work nights shifts during that week, but I'm sure I can pull an allnighter for him, or an alldayer in my case. We still haven’t met outside this place yet, which was pretty sad, at this point. Shouldn’t we go on dates and stuff like that? It’s been a long time since I had been in some kind of relationship, but hanging around my workplace all the time sure was never part of it. I want to make some memories with him, outside of this place.

“Sure, could be fun”, I say trying to sound casual even though I’m already thinking about switching some shifts, what we should do, where to go. It’s his first Pride, it’s our first… date? I want it to be something nice. 

I grab another fry, before he consumes them all and to distract me from my thoughts a little, but this peace of mind gets destroyed in this moment either way.

“Hey lover birds”, Natalie calls as she walks toward us. She seems to be pretty entertained with us, I can't say that I'm feeling the same about her. It’s rather inconvenient that she’s scheduled with me all the time, but she can be as much of a pain in the ass as me, so it’s only reasonable to give the night shifts to her, so more sensitive girls wouldn't have to deal with them. 

“Why are you wearing a scarf in the middle of June?”, she asks Eugene as she stands in front of our table. 

He looks up at her, almost a bit annoyed. She’s a little too much for him, makes me think he probably wouldn't have liked me either if we had met a few years prior, when I was still far more intrusive than I’m now. Hard to believe, I know. 

He pulls the scarf tighter around his neck. “I'm a little sick…”, he answers her question with a lie. 

I know the truth, know exactly why he is wearing that thing. He did so, because I left a rather large mark on his neck the other day, after he had asked me to. Like he did before, during that night on the couch. I saw him brushing his fingers over it from time to time, almost affectionately. It was nice, having that little secret between us, nice to know that he wasn’t always perfectly contained.

“U-hu”, she makes far from believing him. “Snaf’s hypochondriac ass would never kiss you, then.”

“I'd tolerate his germs”, I sneer with a grin, trying to be obnoxious myself so she would lose interest in annoying us.

“Gross”, she says, pulling a face and looks to the counter, my plan to get rid off her seemingly working, but then she turns around, an impish grin on her face. 

“Sledgehammer!”

He looks at her, against his better knowledge. 

“That's also stemming from your pen?” 

She's referencing the music again. Would this become some kind of theme between us three?

_You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals_  
_So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel_

“What are you listening to around here? Horny station?”, he indifferently after he recognized the song.

“You tell me!”, she snarls. “You’re the one writing ‘the kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about’.”

I can’t help but snort a laugh. That song is absolutely awful. His writing is so much better than this bullshit, but that one line about Prince as a reference is quite clever, I’ll give her that.

“I was a child when that song came out”, he grumbles.

“Early practice makes the master…”

“What Snafu said.” 

We're sharing a laugh, but I should have known, that she wouldn't stop there. I'm still startled when she asks: 

“Have you two done it doggie-style, yet?”

“Natalie!” I groan and aiming at her head with a fry. “Shut your dirty mouth!”

She shrieks as she ducks out the way, the fry landing on the ground. I'm not scandalized on my behalf. I can enjoy a suggestive joke, but I'm certain, that Eugene doesn't. He may be a bit more daring in a dark alleyway, or when I pulled him into the staff room that one time, kissing him breathless, but implying sexual acts right in his face, sure wasn’t something he seemed to appreciate.

He appears highly uncomfortable, when I look over to him, fingers clenching around his laptop-screen. I’m about to curse Natalie out, when he speaks over me, looking at her with a gleam in his eyes. 

“We're more into cowboy, than doggie”, he says and shoots me a quick glance.

Natalie is gaping at him, totally not expecting that kind of comeback, I'm probably gaping a little as well. 

“Kinky!”, she says, although it's really not that kinky. “Who's on top, though?”

“That's none of your goddamn business”, I dart between them. His answer may have sounded like a witty remark to her, but the look he shot me was kinda doubtful. I don't want him to think that I was talking about him, or what happened between us in front of the girls, especially not about sexual stuff, or the lack of it.

“I bet 'hammer is a power-bottom”, she sneers. Eugene gives her the finger, not even looking at her, but focused on his laptop, as if he shut a door into her face. She gasps in mock affront, “You're a bad influence on him, Snaf!”

“Can you fuck off now?”, my patience is completely used up at this point and I don’t have much of it to begin with. We just established some kind of certainty around our relationship, I didn’t need her to ruin this. It wasn’t about meaningless sex anymore. I told him I liked him and we decided to take this seriously. If that meant we would wait with this kind of intimacy, then that would be fine with me. 

She looks back to Eugene who doesn’t pay her any attention no more and maybe she actually catches, that I’m truly mad at her, because she huffs with a roll of her eyes and makes a step backwards, towards the counter. 

“You’re break is over soon”, she reminds me to which I bare my teeth at her.

I sigh when she finally turns her back to us, leaving for good this time, “She’s a pain in the ass...”, I mutter because I don’t really know what else to say. 

“Hm”, he lets out, still focused on his laptop, not looking at me. The tapping of his fingers on the keys makes me nervous, I start to pick on the carton box, last few fries gone cold. Natalie's right, my break is almost over and even though I won’t leave him outside this time I’m still afraid the situation might repeat itself, where some unspoken shit stands between us. Would he care enough about us to return once more? 

“You wish we would have had sex by now?”, his voice cuts through my thoughts. 

“No!”, I say immediately, making him look at me. He appears small on his seat, almost a little anxious. “I mean-”, I let out a sigh, pinching my nose. 

This was exactly the kinda doubt I feared Natalie would spark in him. When I look back up, he had shut his laptop, hands resting on it. That picture reminds me of the night when I found out about his profession. A lot of water had ran down the hill since that encounter. I wanted to take him home with me that night, to simply have some fun with him. 

But when I think about taking him home with me now, I fantasize about cooking for him. Fetching him something healthy so he doesn’t whine about it. We could watch a movie on a proper couch. Damn, maybe even cuddle. But around 10 I’d either walk him home or tuck him into bed, so that he’d hopefully get a full night of sleep, he needs it. 

Fuck, I turned full on domestic for this boy and I don’t regret it one bit, so I say: “I don’t care when or if we have sex.”

“You don’t?”, he asks, the doubt still audible in his voice. 

I smile at him, a bit worn out. After our last confession talk I thought we’d have a little more time before some kind of issue would occur again. 

“I only care about what you want”, I answer, completely honest this time, I won’t risk letting anything stand between us again, especially not, when I have to get up right about now to get back to working. We should really stop having this kind of conversations at this place.

His expression smoothes out, he reaches his hand over the table, I take it, a laugh breaking from my lips. Holding-hands and chaste kisses are enough for me, if it’s for him. I’d like to finally spend some time alone with him, at another place, without my coworkers daggering us with their looks.

“Gene, I’m really sorry, but I have to go back to the counter...” I say a bit ruefully. 

“Yeah okay”, he says, voice calm. 

I did get fooled the last time when I thought it’d be fine, to leave him behind, but I’m very sure this won’t happen again. I told him everything I wanted to and he doesn’t appear to be disappointed this time, a little pensive maybe. I give his hand a quick tuck before getting up, grabbing for my trash. 

“See you for Pride?”, I ask, still excited about the thought of finally having some kind of date with him.

He smiles brightly up at me, “I look forward to it!”, he says and tilts his head up, I follow the proposal and peck him a quick kiss, when he clutches my nape, to steal a second, deeper one.

***

I switch some shifts to be scheduled at the early morning so I can leave with Eugene around noon for the parade. It wasn't that complicated to switch, the girls were relieved that we finally managed to confess our feelings for each other and were eager to allow me to be free for my date with him. Steph and Natalie covered my night shift, the two most abrasive of them, but still with a soft spot for romance as it seemed. 

I clocked out five minutes ago, Eugene should arrive any minute and then we’d head to the parade from here. I just needed to change into my “civvies”. 

I open my locker back in our little staff room, the hat is the first thing that finds its way into it, I comb through my hair with my fingers and dig around for the top I had planned to wear. Nothing fancy, but a nice shirt with a colorful pattern. This was kind of our first date and I wanted to show him that I could look even better when I wasn't wearing a polyester uniform. 

I’m only wearing my undershirt when a knock sounds on the door. 

“What?”, I groan, thinking it’s one of the girls, annoying me with something they could deal with on their own, but when I turn around it’s Eugene. 

“Oh hey!”, I say quickly, in a friendlier tone. 

“Hey”, he says, standing a bit awkward in front of the door he just closed. He seemingly hadn't paid that much attention to his outfit, he's wearing a simple black zip-hoodie, zipped all the way up to his neck, showing me nothing of his delicate skin. He appears to be a little nervous, fumbling with a bag in his hand.

“All good?” I ask, tensing a little myself. 

He simply nods, but he didn’t even greet me properly, no kiss and nothing. 

“Expecting a show?”, I sneer, trying to get him to relax or at least roll his eyes at me. 

But he doesn’t even react to the joke, instead he blurts out: “I got something for you!” and almost flings the bag at me. 

I grab it out of his hand, frowning. What did he get me? Flowers? Chocolates? I reach into the bag and pull out a t-shirt, it’s black, but folded, so I can't see the front. I let out a nervous chuckle. Did he get us matching tops? That’d be a little too domestic for me. 

“I hope you didn't get that out of one of those fast fashion shops”, I mutter to mask my slight discomfort at the prospect of wearing that thing the whole day.

“No”, he rolls his eyes, tension pushed aside in favor of annoyance at me. “I got it from that little fashion store down the street.” 

I hope that's true, cause I'm not going to wear some H&M-crap. 

“You've got some strong opinions about certain kind of businesses, don't you?”, he asks.

“It's my duty as an opponent of capitalism”, I declare, to which he simply rolls his eyes. 

I'm grinning, he's an artist and I'm working-class, we're in this together, even though I'm certain his parents preached the American Dream to him. Easy to do when you’re already privileged.

He rubs at his nose, that endearing habit of his, looking at me expectantly, even making a motion with his hand, signaling me to unfold the shirt. So I bite the bullet and do it. A print reveals itself in chest height. I

t's the rainbow flag, “Pride 2020” written under it. A smile tucks on my lips. If it wasn't for him I'd never wear something like that, it's a bit tacky. I'm neither a tourist, nor a teen at his first Pride. But it was his first Pride so I'd play along with anything he might want to do. 

“Thanks, Gene” I say, lowering the shirt to look at him. “It's great!”

“It's just a t-shirt”, he mutters, avoiding my eyes.

“I know the arts are paying badly…” I tease him, but I do like the shirt. Just because he spent his time to get it for me. It's a gift and I'll cherish it. I pull it right over my head, doing a little spin. 

”Do I look good?”, I ask him. 

He nods, a smile on his lips. He can be really adorable, switching from witty to shy quite quickly. 

“Are we matching?” I ask and motion to his hoodie, I can’t imagine that he only got a shirt for me and nothing for himself.

Suddenly he's tensing up again, “Not quite”, he mutters. “I have to tell you something. You might already know about it, I’m not sure...”

I swallow thickly. He sure knew how to scare someone. I thought we clarified every question, resolved every issue. What happened between then and now? What new problem could have occurred? 

I’m following his hands with my eyes, as they pull open the zipper. He reveals a t-shirt not unlike mine, but his has a different looking flag on it. I'm truly not an expert when it comes to identifying them. I cherish every single letter in the LGBTQ+ community, but I could use a crash course to refresh my knowledge. 

My eyes dart from his chest to his face, thinking he'll say something, but he looks at me expectantly and I'm starting to sweat a little under his gaze, because I can't meet his expectations here. I have no idea what these colors mean.

“Does it bother you?”, he asks after he figured I wasn't going to say anything. 

“Uh…” I'm not even sure what could bother me about this. Was there a pride flag for hipsters? That would bother me.

His expression becomes worried. “Oh God”, he mumbles. “I should have told you sooner…” He's fumbling with the hem of the shirt. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lead you on. I-” 

“Eugene!”, I interrupt him before he can start rambling. This won’t lead to another conflict, I’m tired. I just want to leave already, with him, heading to the parade, whatever flag he’s wearing. I don’t care. 

“Slow down”, I say. “I don't even know, what that flag means.”

He stares at me, baffled. “You don't?!”

I take another look at his shirt, but it doesn’t ring a bell. The flag is not exactly colorful, except for a stripe of purple. 

“Sorry”, I shrug. 

As my eyes meet his again, he looks a little upset. He probably had this plan in his mind where he would show me his shirt and I’d either say: ‘I don’t care’ or ‘It’s over’, or something like that. Even though I don't think anything regarding his sexuality or gender could make me say ‘it’s over’.

He lets out a sigh. “It represents asexuality,” he says. “I'm asexual.” 

Huh, that actually explains a lot. Or not, considering the genre he's writing for. I snort a laugh. His face drops.

“Fuck, sorry!”, I rush to say, reaching for his arms, he grumbles a little but lets me pull him closer. 

“It doesn’t bother me”, I say quickly to get that out of the way. 

He seems to relax a little. 

“Even though an asexual porn writer is kinda odd”

I can’t resist to tease him about that. I already thought it was funny, that this proper, well-behaved southern lad writes filthy porn stories, but this adds a whole other dimension to it.

“It’s not porn. It’s erotica”, he insists a bit sullen. “And I have some experience. I’m not a virgin…”

I nod, biting away a smile. I never really thought, that he was one and actually I’m kinda relieved I’m not the first guy he rubbed his dick against, on an old couch, outside a burger grill. Don't know if that would have been the best first experience. But I’m still the man I've always been, so I say: 

“Pity! Would’ve been kinda hot.”

He scoffs. “Well, you have to get someone else for that.”

I smirk lazily at him. “I don't want someone else,” I say and make a step closer to him, looking up into his eyes. Our small height-difference only really matters when were standing this close together, then I have to turn my eyes up to him. “You’re perfectly fine.”

“Yeah?”, he asks in a low voice, looking down, shifting back to our original topic. “You always seemed so eager over my stories”, he mumbles. “I thought sex is important to you.” 

Well, I like sex, no doubt about it, but if he doesn’t want to do it, fine. I’ll live. 

We’re standing awfully close for not touching each other and my eyes glide over his body, falling back onto his t-shirt with the - at least for me - cryptic message on it. 

I didn’t really predict that, but it didn’t shock me either. He didn’t pay much attention to flirting, hence he never noticed the girls efforts and he didn’t really answer my flirting either, he only became a bit more daring, as we got to know each other better. 

He said he was into kissing and touching and that seemed to be true, because he searched those kinda embraces from me, but he hadn’t let it go any further than that. I think back to our night on the couch. He seemed and felt quite aroused at the time. 

“Do you feel sexual attraction at all?”, I ask. “Did you enjoy the stuff we did on that couch?”   
Or did he just do that to please me? I wonder a little worried.

He lets out a sigh, looking down the space between us and my stomach sinks a stretch. “It depends”, he says. “On my mood, the other person...” 

Then he looks me in the eye again, a smile on his lips. “So yeah, I enjoyed that stuff we did on the couch.” 

I smile back at him, kinda relieved. 

“But the sex thing might take me a little while. I guess, I’m nothing like the stories I write…”

“You don’t have to!”, I say and reach out to grab his arms, stroking my thumbs over them.   
I mean it and it’s like he said, they’re kinda dumb anyway. It’s just fiction and you don’t have to have crazy sex to be happy in a relationship. You don’t even have to have completely mundane sex to be happy. I’d give everything to be together with him, with or without any kind of sexual intimacy. “We don’t have to sleep together, for me to be head over heels for you.” 

Eugene inclines his head a little, to look at me properly, frowning slightly. 

I bite down on my lip. I didn’t mean to say the last part. It is not a lie, but it’s also sappy and I’m still kinda new to this whole sweet talk, so this confession is a bit overwhelming for me. 

“Despite”, I say hastily, to deflect my last words and wrap my arms around him. “I really enjoyed your dirty talk.”

He groans and hides his face by pressing it against his shoulder. “Don't remind me”, he mumbles, but slides his arms around my waist. “Weed makes me say embarrassing things, apparently.”

I laugh at that, caressing his back. I don’t think it was embarrassing, it riled me up quite nicely. I even found some of my own fantasies in his words, which was pretty exciting, knowing that we were on the same page about this kinda stuff, even if we’d never act on it.

“I fantasized about us quite a bit”, I confess quietly, getting a little flustered. I hope he doesn’t think it strange. “Is that bad?” 

He shakes his head, “No, but I might never live up to those fantasies. If that’s okay with you?” 

I risk a glance up at him, his eyes are incredibly deep looking, I want so sink into them like dark, thick, sweet molasses. 

“It is, it absolutely is”, I say and after the head over heels part already slipped past my lips I might as well tell him that the theme of my fantasies has changed quite a bit anyway.

“I think you might be able to live up to my current ones, though”

He looks at me, expecting. 

“I thought about all that relationship-stuff, cooking for you, watching a movie, even taking you back to my parents.”

The smile he grants me with matches the softness of his eyes. “Well that's great”, he says and brushes through my hair light and affectionately. “Cause I'm full of those domestic fantasies. Getting groceries, washing the dishes, taking out the trash…”

I start chuckling, giddy with love. I think I can say it’s love, the beginning of one. My gaze slides down his face and lands on his neck, were his shirt reveals the faintest sign of the mark I left there. I bet I can make him mine in other ways too and bless him with a lovebite from time to time if he wants me to.

“I think I could get off to those”, I mumble, because I can never stop teasing him, not when he’s all sweet like this, teasing me back, or being all coy. 

A perfect congregation of contradictions. A southerner in the north. A caffeine addict with a heart murmur. A smoking vegetarian. An asexual who writes porn stories for a living. 

A good mannerly boy dating a Ex-Snafu like me.

“You're the worst!” he says and I feel him laughing lightly as I hug him tight against my chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Honestly, I'd be already so grateful, if someone made it to the end of this. If you'd like to leave kudos or a comment that would be amazing!  
> After all I really like to imagine them in a modern setting, what changes, what stays the same about them, it‘s fun!
> 
> Title is based on the song "The Bad Touch" by Bloodhound Gang. It's a fun song :^)


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